Lingering Fragrances
by AnonM1ss
Summary: Aoshi finally decides it’s time to move on, and he seems quite determined in his pursuit of two things: the expansion of the Oniwabanshuu and Misao’s heart.
1. Carpe Diem

Chapter 1: Carpe Diem

One day he inexplicably left the temple—for good. His aura was mysterious; that was a given, but this last move had left all of the inhabitants at the Aoiya completely clueless. They didn't; however, dwell upon his actions for long: they were just glad he had decided to come forth from his prolonged hibernation and face the light. Misao was estatic—for her, his emergence was a sign of the true revival of the Oniwabanshuu. What she hadn't taken into account was the fact that it had been thriving without him; it had grown with the determination and love of a particularly fiery young woman, who like a magnet, drew everyone and everything nearer to her with natural force. Her attraction was so propelling that in time, even _he_ was convinced that it was the time to move on. 

The first signs of his apparent recovery and his changed mindset to move on as the true Okashira came with his new western business suit. Once he had donned it, Okina had handed the expenses of the inn and the financial plans to the younger man without a word of doubt. With the leather-bound agenda placed in his capable hands, the old man had implicitly handed over the onmitsu leadership to Aoshi once more, his rugged face looking sternly at the tall man with utter severity, even if his crinkled eyes shined with pride and unreserved relief. 

Misao happened to pass by the two men in their wordless meeting, but she had been carrying a huge load of laundry in her small arms, barely able to see past her, much less around her. The two men, having finished all they needed to "say", both looked at the petite woman ambling past them, her grumbling barely audible over the laundry that muffled her voice. Okina turned to face his Okashira with a slight smile and a comment spoken in undertone: "Do you realize that while you were spending time off to heal and grow—that she had grown, too? Now, along with the new responsibilities you carry, another one is added. You must reacquaint yourself with the woman you had left behind these last few years." 

_How true_, Aoshi mused to himself, gazing at the braided beauty as she teetered over the stairs. 

Okina gave him a swift glance before taking the agenda from his hands and placing it on Aoshi's oak desk, gesturing to Misao with a grin, "And you may start now by helping her down the stairs like any pleasant gentleman." Aoshi couldn't restrain himself from giving the old man a slight groan of annoyance before leaving after Okina's surrogate granddaughter, leaving the old man in the spacious room, overlooking the blooming garden in a winsome reverie, repeating a well-known foreign phrase that he found fit to match his mood: _carpe diem_. 

"Oof," Misao grunted as she balanced the load against her frontal area and strained her eyes to see the next step below her. She really hoped that she wouldn't trip over herself; otherwise, that would result in her tumbling down the stairs in a flurry of linens and dirty clothing and falling inevitably to her death. Death from the actual physical act of falling downstairs, or death at the hands of a fuming Omasu; either would be extremely painful. Suddenly, Misao came up with an ingenious plan: why not lean against the wall, that way she could go downstairs much quicker, and with less risk! Grinning self-contentedly as she scooted against the wall, she then proceeded to master the stairs, step by step. Frowning slightly with concentration, Misao was too busy placing her foot solidly on the next step down to realize that her load had gotten a lot lighter. Looking up to check if most of the clothes was still in place and hadn't fallen off, Misao found herself staring at a two wells of endless blue—Aoshi-sama. She had meant to say "Oh!", but her mind wanted to say "Eek!", so in her confusion, Misao had settled for an utterly unsophisticated "Erk". Blushing violently, Misao looked at the taller man who motioned to her nonplussed to follow his lead down stairs. Berating herself for her lack of eloquence and sheer awkwardness, Misao followed him easily down the stairs with her cleared view, wishing that she still had the mountain of clothes to hide her fiery flushing. Kami-sama, she was still such a kid! She let out a small sigh—it seemed like she wasn't used to having Aoshi around so much: whenever he was around, she found that she felt even more tongue-tied and clumsy that usual. It was so much easier just seeing him once a day and spending the rest of her time daydreaming endlessly about him. Now that he was at home more often, so many more things could go wrong! _Or_, she realized suddenly as she gave herself an elfin smile, _so many more things could go to her advantage_…

He looked over his shoulder, waiting for her to spring down into the hallway with amusement. Seeing her improvise to make way with her immense load downstairs by leaning against the wall as support had charmed him to no end. Misao had always had a bountiful amount of commonsensical cleverness—she had just always chosen to ignore it to satiate her feline curiosity. Peering over his shoulder with a impassive expression on his noble visage, Aoshi hid his surprise when he witnessed a slight change in Misao's countenance. The rosy blush that had crowned her features but a few moments had drained out, leaving his protégé with a secretive, very womanly smile on her lips. Aoshi felt slightly unnerved—like a moth that had been drawn to the light that only realizes moments before its death that such brightness is dangerous. Shaking his head slightly, he looked down at the fair young woman by his side—the mischievous smile was gone; in its stead was a sun-drenched grin that was all-too familiar to him as she said cheerily, "Arigatou, Aoshi-sama! If it weren't for you, I would have taken another _hour_ getting down here!" Then, taking the bundle he had carried from his arms, Misao proceeded steadily to the laundry room, her walk still graceful even if her steps were smaller and slower. Aoshi's eyes followed her every move, lightening from its icy blue torrent to a milder azure as he watched Misao blend into the light shining through the Aoiya's open doors. 

Misao looked forlornly at the sprouts that refused to emerge in front of her. Staring at the crumbly, moist, brown soil organized into plots in front of her, Misao knelt on her knees, not caring that she was soiling her newest kimono, looking for any signs of spring life in the coarse dirt. Hearing steps behind her, Misao wailed dejectedly without caring to turn, "Mou, Okon! They're taking _forever_! What if they just died in there? My pet garden's a failure, already!" The footsteps stopped suddenly as the person peered over the small woman, amusement dusting slightly over his features as he heard his ward's exaggerated words. Misao was slightly disconcerted by the lack of words coming from the usually bubbly older woman she presumed to be right behind her until she noticed the tall dark silhouette of a man cast a dark shadow over her. Wheeling around with an exquisite look of surprise that captured her finely sketched features, Misao recognized her Okashira with a shaky "K-konnichi-wa!" Aoshi murmured likewise in response, then knelt by her side, looking intently at the garden, or rather lack of a garden, with critical eyes. Misao sat against her heels, bringing a shaky hand up to Aoshi's face, showing him a brown package, "They're seeds," she said, rather nervous with his proximity as she flushed slightly, "you know, the kind that produce vegetables." Once she had uttered that statement, Misao wanted to yank her hair and throw a fit: _Baka! Aoshi obviously knows what they are! It's just typical of you to get all tongue-tied and say all sorts of stupid things…Calm down, it's just Aoshi-sama! _How easy it was for her mind to tell her that it was "just Aoshi-sama", when he was only the most desirable man she had ever dreamed of—sure, she could handle him on her own _just fine_. Letting out a small sigh, Misao frowned at her non-existent sprouts, willing them, no; pleading with them to spring out of the ground: _come out, come out—you know you want to. The sun's all warm and toasty today… COME OUT, Dammit!_

Aoshi looked at the willowy woman by his side, whose unwavering gaze seemed to be commanding the unyielding soil to bear greens already. He settled his gaze on her clenched fist that was crushing the package of seeds unwittingly. He reached over and grasped her hand, ignoring her surprised, inquiring look as he gingerly undid her closed fingers and took the seeds from her, giving her a very slight smile, "I'm sure you'll want to have these for safe keeping, Misao." Misao didn't respond—she had turned her head and was looking out towards the sun, her features flushed as waves of rose and gold washed over her features. She was breathtaking, with wisps of dark midnight hair fluttering on her slender face and long thick lashes protecting her eyes from the sun's damaging rays. Aoshi suddenly felt out of place—really, what _was_ he doing there? 

"Do you know why I want this garden so badly, Aoshi-sama?" The question had come out rushed and abruptly, her voice low and pensive.

 Aoshi tore his gaze from her distant face, looking at the package of seeds as he turned it over in his hands, "No, Misao." Feeling slightly inadequate with his curt words as he sensed Misao's uncertainty on continuing their conversation, Aoshi murmured encouragingly, "Tell me, Misao." He loved the way her name resounded in his throat—it felt full, harmonious and balanced. 

"I wanted to watch something… grow. I mean, I realized one night as we were eating dinner that time was such a key element in our lives, yet I had never seen its manifestations until it had passed. I saw Jiya, Okon, Omasu—even you. All of you had changed so much, and I hadn't noticed, or I hadn't had a chance to notice. I felt almost ashamed; you all are people I have grown up with, people I love. I was hoping that if I could rear a garden, I would find some joy in seeing growth." Misao looked down at her hands: they were small, calloused and rough around the knuckles. Suddenly she found that she couldn't meet Aoshi's eyes: she had been babbling nonsense all day. He must find all her rambling irritating, and not to mention that she wasn't attractive in the conventional ways a woman should be—no, she was rough, too sharp and incredibly short. _Like some queer nature sprite_, she mused slightly, tying in her recent reading in foreign literature to her own situation. Most of the time she had prided in her sheltered yet complete childhood: it had made her what she was today. She admitted that she was much more of a child than she was an adult at her nineteen years, but what she had hoped was that she had some redeeming quality or some extraordinary features that would win Aoshi over with time, but she was rapidly losing hope of that. 

"Maybe I should do the same." Aoshi's almost wistful tone prompted Misao to look up into his eyes, searching for an explanation. Aoshi got up unexpectedly, looking down at Misao with undecipherable eyes as he offered a hand to help her up. Misao felt her mouth curve upwards into a merry smile as she put her hand in his, enjoying the sensation of being hoisted up by his supple strength. Once she was on her feet, Misao looked at her hand encased in his and swallowed nervously, slipping her hand out of his as she looked hesitantly up at his countenance. She almost winced when she felt Aoshi's eyes taking in her soiled kimono, but he surprised her suddenly by kneeling in front of her and gently brushing the dirt off of her dress. His large hand nearly encompassed both her knees as he continued to rhythmically swipe at her sodden kimono as he murmured, "I had been gone for so many years, only to come back and see that my—that you had grown up. I think…I think that it took me these last few years to finally accept that you're still you, even when at times you seemed so familiar, so much like the Misao of the past, and yet so altered that you were an unapproachable woman." 

Misao bit her bottom lip, "Unapproachable?" 

Aoshi stopped cleaning her skirts as he looked up at her with dark complex eyes, standing up slowly as he continued to stare into her eyes without breaking their gaze, "But no longer." 

Thrusting the paperwork aside, Aoshi gazed out into the spilling colors of the watercolor sunset: violet, gold, and scarlet stained the sky as the heralding evening breeze tousled his hair. Aoshi quietly held the fountain fen to his chin, recalling the events of the afternoon. The response he had gotten from Misao once he had confessed his interest in her had been priceless: self-doubt, hope and hesitation had warred over her open features. His eyes flickered in amusement: very well, he concluded, if she could not see the truth, then there would be plenty of time for him to enlighten her. 

What in Kami-sama's name had he meant? Misao clutched the tea tray close to her, hoping that she wouldn't spill any of the hot liquid or accessories. When he had talked to her in the garden earlier that day, Misao had felt her heart jump straight into her throat, fearing to misinterpret the meaning of his words. She would be cautious—she did not want to misunderstand him and feel her hope build up, only to have it shattered once she came up with the courage to voice her feelings for him. Her heart protested at her cowardice, but her mind encouraged her decision—after all, there was no solid evidence that indicated his interest. Misao knocked at his door mildly before entering his room at his voiced permission. She nearly dropped the tray with pleasant surprise when she entered the room. Aoshi was standing with his back to her, gazing at the radiant sunset. Misao hurriedly placed the tea set on his desk before joining him joyfully, sharing the sunset with him in silence. She didn't have a clue as to how much time had actually passed; all she knew was that once she had seen the first star of the night and the heavy drapes of dark blue advancing, she felt her heart tighten. What a sunset! She couldn't help but grin pleasantly to herself—she had always enjoyed watching the change of day and night. The striking sunset inspired her to make plans for watching the sun rise the next morning…maybe. Aoshi suddenly shifted by her side, returning to his desk as he drew out his arm chair and brought out another chair for his companion, gesturing for her to join him. Misao complied, bustling over to pour the tea. She felt the pot tentatively before looking at him worriedly, "Aoshi-sama… the tea's cold." 

As Misao turned with the pot to make some more, Aoshi halted her, holding her back gently with an extended arm, "Wait Misao, I don't need tea today, thank you." Misao looked at him with a quizzical look before Aoshi motioned for her to take a seat, "We have to talk." Curious, Misao nodded slightly before she sat by his side quietly, her expression alert and her body upright as she gave her full attention to her Okashira, "I have already confided my intentions to Okina earlier this week, and I intend to do likewise with you." Giving the slender woman a piercing gaze, Aoshi continued evenly, "I have plans for expanding the Oniwabanshuu, fortifying it from within, and then reaching outwards to others. The Oniwabanshuu will remain a covet onmitsu clan, but branching out the Aoiya will make it easier for the Oniwa to expand, picking out possible contenders from those that come to associate at the restaurants. This era is one of peace, that is true, but the use of shadowing and intelligent surveillance will still be highly in demand—politicians tend to be all the more uneasy with sudden peace. Besides, there are the westerners to consider. Thus, the need for highly tuned observational skills and sharp social skills is needed in order to make this all work out." Giving her a meaningful look, Aoshi got straight to the point: "That is where you come into play. I need a leader to stimulate the planning and advertising of the new Aoiya branches as well as a fine mind to keep things in track with Okina. You would need to arrange the new Restaurant's service, employment and work ethics. Will you accept the responsibility?" 

Misao was ready with the brightest of smiles and a firm answer, "Of course." 

From that day on, the meetings between the Okashira and his most trusted advisor made way for a most welcomed company of three.

Author's note: So… how was it? Aish, I was stumbling over 'A Whisper of Grace' for so long that I suddenly had the desire to write another traditional A+M fanfic (one set in the original RK universe), since I had so much fun getting all mushy over 'Muted Discourse' (which, by the way, will not have another epilogue for the epilogue. It is completely finished, although someone can take the initiative and write a follow-up lemon for me, since I can't write those myself. It would be greatly appreciated :P). Aigo! I'm sick at home right now with a rather nasty version of the flu: terribly sore throat, stuffiness and PINK EYES!!! Ewewew… how gross! Pray for my rapid recovery, that way I can come up with another chapter for 'Whisper' or 'In My Place', and for the few who actually read 'Makimachi Misao's Diary', I'm already… 1/3 done with the next chapter! Woohoooo! My other fic 'The Order' was put on an unknown hiatus due to the lack of responsiveness from readers and my fall of inspiration. 

Anyways, reviews are always appreciated :D


	2. Unforeseen Liasons

Chapter 2:  Unforeseen Liaisons

            Aoshi gave the tall man a pointed frown: really, all the fumes that came out of those detested things always made him want to choke. It didn't help that the policeman had no windows in his office, no matter how large it was. The wooden walls were blank, and his desk was inconspicuously clean, making Aoshi feel something akin to wry humor: the Mibu Wolf was utterly meticulous. Even in this tranquil time, he wouldn't risk anything that could be used against him. Saitou drew in a particularly deep breath, exhaling loosely as he flickered his cigarette's end with his a twist of his wrist. "So," the older man drawled, "How could an ordinary cop be necessary for the Oniwabanshuu's plans for expansion?" 

            Flashing the Wolf a critical glance, Aoshi brought out a thick folder full of pertinent information to current times and criminals that had set government officials on the look-out: "We could set a deal. If you would provide official support from the government and keep an oath of silence about the Oniwa, we could, in turn do some necessary shadowing or background support for you. In order to maintain our function as an undercover organization, it would be agreeable to have some sort of legal backup, no matter how covertly it was offered." 

            Amber eyes met unflinching frosty blue ones with feral deliberation. Toying slightly with his cigarette, Saitou gave Aoshi a mirthless smile that signified nothing, the silence so complete that both men could hear the ticking of the officer's desk clock echo in their ears. Finally, Saitou opened his mouth, but only to mention a subject that had nothing to do with what Aoshi had just brought up: "Is the itachi still pining for you?"

 Aoshi gave him a disapproving look before responding smoothly, "Hardly." 

Wry laughter resounded in the room, making Aoshi's frown deepen, "The years do pass." The Okashira blinked—had Saitou just given in to a bout of nostalgia? The slight humor flickering in Saitou's eyes confirmed his last thought as he answered Aoshi's offer: "I accept, but only if you take up a preliminary task for me. A kind of assessment, if I may say so myself—so I can see if the Oniwabanshuu are up to the task. Depending on your performance, I will give the support you have asked for." 

Aoshi was never a man for small talk: "what is the assignment?"

Saitou extinguished his cigarette before taking out a small folder from his desk, tossing it somewhat churlishly at the Okashira, who took the folder without comment, "Get me information on the arms trade in Japan through the vantage point of foreigners and natives alike. Ever since Kanryuu and Yukishiro have been wiped out, courtesy of the former Battousai, the arm race has been somewhat more clandestine, but definitely not eliminated. It is well-known that the British have been selling weapons illegally into Japan, but our main concern is to catch which Japanese tradesmen participate in this black market." Aoshi nodded slightly before opening the file and reading a bio on a couple, Hanabusa Setsuhiro and Yuuna. Looking up at the policeman with dawning understanding, Aoshi murmured, "The Japanese ambassador in England, and his wife." 

Saitou nodded with dry approval, "Correct. They are newly appointed, and had been residing in England, but they have been abducted and held hostage under the expressed order of some British weapons kingpin in order to maintain the steady flux of arms in the nation. You will be in charge of finding Oniwabanshuu members to go undercover as the couple's son Hanabusa Ayo and his wife Hanabusa Meiko, who have gone into hiding to avoid captivity or assassination, so no one but I and a couple of other high-ranking officials who are acquainted personally with the couple know of their whereabouts. This is an internal secret that is kept from government heads for fear of betrayal." Giving the younger man a ferocious look that openly challenged him, Saitou continued, "Using the undercover name and status, the two who pose as the couple will infiltrate the activities of the arms dealers, bring back evidence and facts, and then retreat." 

Aoshi mulled over the offer, weighing its risk factor and its relative importance. Gaining the information had a dual purpose for the Mibu Wolf: it would serve as a way to get rid of meddlesome foreigners, and it could also be used to blackmail the Westerner who held the ambassadors in captivity. Given that their performance would be impeccable, Saitou would not deny his support for the Oniwabanshuu afterward. Aoshi tucked the folder into his leather briefcase before nodding, "The Oniwabanshuu will undertake the operation." 

Giving Aoshi a sly smirk, Saitou intoned in a low voice with his gloved hand languorously waving in dismissal, "I hope that the itachi has sharpened up on her social skills." 

"Aoshi-sama…you went to see the psych—I mean, Saitou, ne? You smell like cigarette smoke!" 

Aoshi looked down at the radiant woman who had rushed out to greet him, his posture relaxing somewhat and his mood lightening immediately. Misao seemed to have an alleviating effect on him: he could never be seriously troubled whenever he was with her. He gave Misao a swift yet thorough inspection: she was clad in a nondescript plum-colored kimono, her hair pulled back in an easy ponytail, and she was holding what seemed to be a heavy earthen pot. Misao shifted the pot from under one arm to another easily before saying, "Oh, this? It's a jar of pickled daikon. The cooks at the Aoiya seemed to have run out, so they sent me to get some more from the storage rooms. Why, do I look odd holding it?" Twirling playfully around, the jar tucked under an arm, Misao spun around, her clear laughter filling Aoshi's mind with glimpses of sunshine. 

"No," he answered somewhat hesitantly, "You look…fine." Turning suddenly, Aoshi berated himself for his sudden unease with this sort of subject. He looked over his shoulder as he articulated tersely, "Call Okina—the three of us need to talk about the upcoming events for the Oniwabanshuu." It was amusing how he found it infinitely easier to talk about business than any other subject with Misao. 

"Would you like to have some tea brought up to your room?" 

Aoshi stopped, his back to her as he allowed the slightest of smiles to emerge on his face: it was just like Misao to make even business a matter of enjoyment, "Aa, I would appreciate it." 

By the time Misao had prepared the tea and climbed assiduously up the stairs with the tray intact, the two men were already deep in counsel. When Misao opened the door mildly, the two men turned their head sharply to her, their wariness highly tuned until they recognized that it was only the awaited third of their meeting. Misao wedged through the door with an easy grin, closing the door shut with her foot as she exclaimed, "Fresh tea—with your favorite, Jiya! Pound cake!" Placing the tray carefully on the desk, Misao swatted at the old man's hand, chiding gently, "Mou, Jiya…only one at a time! You need to watch your weight." As the old man sputtered in mock indignation, Misao pulled up a chair seated herself between the two men, flashing a warm smile to both men before she asked pleasantly albeit seriously, "What's the news, Aoshi-sama… Jiya?" She turned to both men; her lucid eyes insisting on the whole scoop before they lit up with comprehension as she snapped her fingers for emphasis, "Oh! It has something to do with that psycho cop, ne? What did Saitou want from you this time, Aoshi-sama?"

Aoshi responded concisely, "I asked him to help us expand, and he said that he would if we took up this particular mission, which I accepted." Misao gave him her undivided attention, silently encouraging him to go on, "We are to have two of us go undercover as the Japanese ambassador's son and daughter…" After hearing Aoshi's summary of the meeting with Saitou and the train of his thoughts in deciding to accept the mission, Misao and Okina agreed wholeheartedly with his decision, bringing up insightful issues and questions into account, which Aoshi responded to without hesitation. Aoshi had the whole mission covered, and there seemed only to be one problem left over that Okina deftly brought up: "So it seems that you have concluded to pose as Hanabusa Ayo, but who will accompany you as your "wife", Aoshi?" 

Misao looked down at the teacup in her hands—she wished to volunteer, but she feared being shunned by Aoshi, for whatever reasons he could come up with. Clearing her throat, Misao glanced at both the men who looked at her expectantly before she spoke up: "How about Okon? She has the discretion and etiquette to handle the task well. Omasu would be an equally good choice—she has charm and would be excellent as a social figure." 

She chanced a look at her grandfather, who shook his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something in response. Misao shut her eyes, wishing he wouldn't talk up: _Please, Kami-sama, save me the embarrassment_. She only opened her eyes a few moments later out of surprise when Aoshi spoke up unpredictably, "Actually, Misao, I was considering you." Misao looked up at her Okashira, her mouth dry and her expressive eyes portraying disbelief as Okina beamed at the younger man over her head. Her guardian explained his choice steadily, "You possess the qualities I find necessary for this job. You do not mind, do you?" Shaking her head, Misao automatically brought the teacup to her lips, trying to keep her joy and excitement down so she could appear responsible and calm. She scarcely heard Aoshi's murmured words of finality, such was the extent of her mental absorption: "Good, then the meeting is adjourned." Neither men commented when they saw Misao take her leave first, cleaning up the tea set with haste as she bolted downstairs to the safety of the kitchen, where she could digest her thoughts in silence.

Misao swallowed audibly as she wrung her hands out of nervous habit: how in hell was she going to keep a straight face while acting as Aoshi-sama's _wife_? Pacing uncertainly in the kitchen, Misao sighed, sitting down dejectedly by the table as she looked out the window absentmindedly. Misao nearly jumped out of her seat in shock when two heads popped up right behind the windows. Omasu and Okon waved cheerily at her from the other side of the glass, each holding shopping bags and a list of things to buy: "Misao! We heard about your upcoming trip with Aoshi-sama! Do you want to come shopping with us for new clothes?" Misao scowled to herself: Jiya couldn't ever keep things to himself. Nodding reluctantly, Misao dragged herself out of the kitchen and joined the two women outside. Just because it made sense to dress in a way that befitted her role didn't mean Misao was eager to go shopping. Quite the contrary, Misao had never cared much for material needs like fine clothing or exquisite accessories—just as long as everything fit fine and didn't get in her way, Misao was quite content to wear whatever came her way. Misao found that none of her clothes fit the description of a poised gentlewoman; however, and she would have to exert herself to appear as such. She had never quite fit the role of "lady" before—now she found that for the sake of profession, she would be forced into it. Vaguely wondering about the disastrous possibilities that could occur, Misao shook her head as she joined her friends, coming to the conclusion that if her Aoshi-sama could act the gentleman, she could just as well. Heading out of the door, Misao felt herself getting jerked back by the collar. Damn—she had gotten her kimono stuck on an open splinter jutting out of the sliding door. Massaging her throat as she grimaced at her lack of grace, Misao discovered a slight difference from both of their situations: Aoshi didn't have to act the gentleman; he had always been one, whereas she had to start from scratch. Crossing her fingers with hope, Misao took a deep breath—she might as well enjoy the last bit of freedom she would have to herself for the next week or so, even if it was spent shopping. 

The lace was itchy, and the layers of petticoats made Misao feel like some bloated, porcelain doll. It didn't help that Aoshi looked sleek and elegant in his dark suit. Frowning slightly, Misao prayed that she wouldn't get her skirts caught on some sharp edge or trip over her laces. Mounting the awaiting train with anticipation, the petite onmitsu woman allowed a small smile to play over her features: at least she had the whole train trip to look forward to. The speed and smoothness of trains never ceased to entertain her, and she would have hours to marvel over its efficiency—they were headed to Nagoya. 

Aoshi peered over his book to watch his vivacious protégé marvel over the advanced technology of the steam engine through his cabin's tinted window, watching her talk in a lively manner with a coal shoveler. Misao was fresh and down-to-earth, never the one to limit herself by social class or physical boundaries. She was caught up in a deep discussion with the soiled young man, her eyes sparkling as she gestured wildly to the large engine outside of their boxcar, her laughter filling the hallway. The young man was eyeing her in a manner that displeased him. Rising to his feet, Aoshi walked out of his cabin to Misao's side, putting a large steady hand on the young woman's shoulder as he gave the young man a warning glance. Misao turned around with a pleased smile on her pretty features, her enthusiasm evident in her tone as she gestured to the thickset worker by her side, "Aoshi-sama! He knows how the steam engine works!"

"Come, Misao."

"Can't I—"

"I'll explain it to you." He was rewarded with a bright smile that lit up her face as she followed him back to their compartment, the coal shoveler already forgotten as she waited eagerly for Aoshi to explain the mystery of trains. 

"The steam engine, invented by a Westerner by the name of…" Aoshi wasn't sure if he could think straight with Misao's full attention on him. A slight smile perked up her features, and her attentive eyes settled on him as she listened to him with curiosity. Once he had finished his explanation, he tore his eyes off of her face and gazed out the window, catching the green scenery with an idle eye. It was getting hard for him to stay on focus with her around; he wondered how long it had been since she held such a sphere of influence over him. He heard Misao sigh as she got up to leave the compartment—no, this would not do, he still had one more thing to tell her: "Misao, come here. We still have to talk about… business." Misao complied as she sat lightly in front of him, her slender hands held tightly in her lap as she chewed on her lower lip uncertainly. "Concerning our roles, it may seem awkward at first, but you must give your all to this assignment—the well-being of the Oniwabanshuu rests upon our success." 

Misao nodded, although she was already fully aware of her circumstances as she murmured softly, "In other words, we must appear to be a convincing married couple." 

Aoshi's gaze flickered over her, approval etched on his solemn features, "Correct. Both in the Hanabusa residence and at social outings—we will share meals, evenings and a bed." His impassive features did not give way to the amusement he felt stir within him as he witnessed Misao flushing in response. 

Misao recovered rapidly as she gave her Okashira a wavering smile, "Well, it won't be too much of a stretch—I used to crawl into bed with you whenever I had nightmares." Her attempt at lightening the discomfiture of the moment; however, failed as the two fell into deep thought, both of them mentally confirming that circumstances were not quite as simple as they were when she was only an innocent child and he a less hesitant youth. 

Glossary:

Daikon: Japanese radishes (kinda like kimchi, but _not_! Nothing can beat kimchi! Ohohohoho!)

Notes: So Saitou DID have a reason for mentioning Misao earlier, ne (that sly cop). I love making interactions with other characters. It's quite clear that the others see how important Aoshi and Misao are to each other, and they often point that out in the manga/anime. They serve as support, enlighteners and prompters at the same time (like Megumi and Kenshin in 'Muted Discourse'). They are indispensable (to me) to keep a good story going… they add a heightened dimension and sense of reality that is both fresh and encouraging. Hence my use of 'psycho cop' in this chapter (that's such a cool nickname… they should make a movie named after that! Hahahah…ah, I'm such a dork).


	3. Mornings with Misao

Chapter 3: Mornings With Misao

Misao stepped off the carriage with a drowsy sensation; all the signs of travel wear evident in her appearances: disheveled hair, half-closed eyes, an unsteady gait and uncommon silence coming from the normally sprightly young onmitsu. Her loose French braid was mussed up, letting stray strands of hair fall to outline her small face. Ambling over to stand by Aoshi's side at the doorstep, the two waited for a servant to greet them in weary silence. On closer inspection, Aoshi found that the imprint of Misao's lace sleeve was visibly pink on her left cheek. His eyes twinkled as he ungloved his hand and brought it to Misao's face, tracing the fine lines of the lace's marks on her cheek: she must have fallen asleep on her arm on the way to the mansion. Misao had started slightly at his unexpected touch, locking gazes with him. She resembled a frightened deer standing motionless in shock in front of an upcoming carriage, yet she did not break his gaze. Only when the sound of footsteps became audible to both outsiders did Aoshi let his hand fall to his side. 

            The mansion was lofty and majestic, its Victorian proportions and exquisite design nearly taking Misao's breath away. Her previous sleepiness forgotten, Misao stared at everything in as covert a manner she could possess, eager to satiate her curiosity. Aoshi was the vision of domestic lordliness, his sharp black suit and gleaming leather shoes blending into the rich burgundy wood floor and autumn-tinted Persian carpets with matched elegance. Antique jade-glazed vases and wondrous paintings decorated the house, making it at once daunting yet mesmerizing. Misao did the best she could to keep up with Aoshi and the butler's long strides, bustling in the most refined manner her confining skirts and pinching shoes allowed her legs to move. "Really, Hanabusa-sama, it has been quite a while since you have returned to this house. I assume that your parents are faring well. Is this lovely lady your newly wedded wife?" The butler turned to Aoshi with a kindly expression, an easy polite smile lightening his features. Aoshi nodded silently, as Misao inhaled sharply—this would not do: having a servant who knew the Hanabusas personally could possibly betray their mission. The old man directed the couple towards the stairs, attempting to step up on the first stair but tripping over it in the process, giving Aoshi a grateful smile when the young man caught him deftly before he could hit the ground, "Domo arigatou, Hanabusa-sama. Unfortunately, my eyesight has worsened over the years; I can barely tell the stair steps apart from each other. Pardon an old man's age—I will leave you for the night." Misao let out a barely audible sigh of relief as she and Aoshi bowed respectfully to the elderly man, murmuring their thanks as they proceeded up the stairs to their shared room in silence. 

            They stood before the closed door for a moment before Aoshi reached out and turned the doorknob. Misao automatically brought a hand up to her mouth as she breathed out in admiration—it was a beautiful room. Heavy beige-colored curtains locked out the moonlight, and a magnificently carved glass gas lamp sat dead center on a lovely ebony table. An extensive dresser and vanity table with an immense mirror atop of it was situated against the wall to their right, a large closet placed by what seemed to be the bathroom door. A tall king-sized bed complete with lofty blankets and drapery stood at the wall that faced the tired couple. Misao turned to Aoshi with a tired smile as she headed towards the bathroom to get ready for bed, "I get the right side." 

            Aoshi let out a muffled groan—his legs were positioned in a most uncomfortable position. Moving his legs across the bed, Aoshi felt his knee brush against something soft and immobile. Opening his eyes slightly, he saw Misao's braided head to his right, identifying with some unease that his leg was resting against her thigh. Removing his knee carefully, Aoshi's half-conscious gaze flickered over to the Western clock in their shared bedroom: seven o'clock. Aoshi knew it was due time for him to arise, but he was reluctant for the first time in months to leave his bed. He was grateful for the extra warmth coming from the extra person in his bed, which was deliciously appealing to him as he observed the chill of the room's air. Shivering slightly, Aoshi delved deeper into the covers as he looked momentarily at Misao's side and found two clear sapphire eyes gazing back at him in the cold of the morning. 

            Misao was the first to break the morning quiet: "Ohayou, Aoshi-sama." Her soft voice filled Aoshi with sunlit warmth as he stared back at the lovely woman who had shared his bed last night. 

            Aoshi sat up resolutely; it would not do for him to stay in bed staring into Misao's eyes—he would lose track of time indefinitely. "You should start accustoming yourself to calling me Ayo, Misao." Misao nodded, a slender hand covering a large yawn as she blinked back sleepy tears. Aoshi did likewise as he responded, "And I in turn… will start calling you Meiko." 

            "Alright, anata." Raising an eyebrow, Aoshi wanted to know what elicited such a response from Misao, who grinned roguishly at him, "Well, we have to be convincing, ne? We can't even risk having servants suspicious of our situation." 

            Aoshi knelt closer until his face was a mere distance from hers as he murmured, "Point taken, _koishii_." Then he turned abruptly, getting out of bed as he left the room to wash up, leaving a scarlet-faced Misao in the bed alone to come over the shock of her morning. 

             Aoshi splashed freezing cold water onto his face, running his wet hands through his hair as he looked into the bathroom mirror. Noticing the first signs of facial hair, Aoshi frowned as he opened the cabinet doors, looking for a razor. Once he had found one, he lathered his lower face and began to shave carefully to avoid any painful nicks. The rustling of covers and the slight shuffling of feet on the floor notified Aoshi that Misao had gotten out of bed. Looking at her supple figure from her reflection in the mirror, Aoshi absentmindedly brought the razor down along his cheek, watching her brush her hair at the vanity table. Entirely unaware of his observation, Misao began to plait her thick, glossy hair, humming a wordless tune as she looked into the mirror in front of her. After nearly finishing her braid; however, Misao stopped, let go of her hair and reached over to grasp a beautiful hair clip. It gleamed a jade and rose color in the sun, complimenting her pale skin and black hair. Aoshi watched her as she hesitantly pulled her hair back in a loose half-ponytail and pinned it with the hair clip, letting a few strands frame her peach-shaped face. A sharp pain stung on his jaw as Aoshi looked at his reflection, startled. He had nicked himself—a faint trickle of blood ran down his face as he glared unpleasantly at his razor. Shaking his head slightly, Aoshi went back to shaving as he chided himself mentally for his lack of attention. It wasn't long before Misao's head stuck into the bathroom, a bright smile on her face as she said, "Ao—Ayo-san? I am going downstairs for some breakfast!" 

            Aoshi turned to Misao, his face still half-unshaven, as he nodded, "I have to do some business downtown, Meiko." 

            "What busi—Aoshi! You're bleeding!" In her worried shock, Misao had let Aoshi's name slip as she rushed over to bring her hands to his face, her eyes full with concern. 

            "It's quite alright, Reiko. I just nicked myself." Misao automatically brought her arms down, wringing her hands nervously as she dipped her head in affirmation. Aoshi turned back to the mirror to avoid her eyes, choosing to hide behind the safety of their assignment than face her about certain other things, "I must go and convince other figureheads of our authenticity. I'm warning you beforehand, Meiko—I will encourage people to come and visit us, so always be prepared." 

            Misao looked down at her clenched hands, biting her lip as she replied, "Hai, Ayo-san." 

            Without meeting Aoshi's eye, Misao backed up to make a swift withdrawal when Aoshi dropped his razor into the sink and spun on her, grabbing her by the wrist as he peered into her face, "There should be _no_ formalities between the two of us, Meiko. We are, after all, husband and wife." 

            Misao looked into his eyes, her own flashing anxiously before a sudden change came over her, leaving her seem cool and unflinching as she agreed smoothly, "Understood, Ayo." Gently, but firmly relaxing his grip on her wrist, Misao slid out of the bathroom door, leaving an uneasy Aoshi by the sink. A collected and furtive smile passed over her countenance as she went downstairs for a bite to eat. At first, Misao had been unsure of how to act in this precarious situation—it seemed like a fragile assignment, and she was loath to spoil it from clumsiness. But Aoshi's rather black-and-white way of treating the mission enlightened her on how she should really act. Smiling confidently, Misao sauntered down to the kitchen as she thought of all the little niceties she could pull on her "husband". After all, who had ever said work couldn't be fun? If Aoshi wanted to make this charade the most realistic it could get, he would be in for a couple of surprises.  

            Aoshi frowned at Misao's retreating figure, his eyes dark and torn between amusement and preoccupation: it was that smile again. It was a slight turn of her head or a certain expression that convinced Aoshi of her maturity more than any of her subtle observations or cultivated words. Her walk, the way she spoke—that smile. Washing the suds off of his face, Aoshi winced slightly at the sting of his cut, wondering if he had gotten himself into deep waters with Misao. He knew once he was submerged, he wouldn't be able to make it out on his own; he could only hope that Misao was a good swimmer. 

_This will not do_, he thought exasperatedly, as he held his hat in a gloved hand and a pool stick in another—he had found himself in a room full of billowing cigar smoke and devious men again. And he had thought he had seen the last of it with Saitou a few days ago… "Your turn, Hanabusa-san." Aoshi lifted his pool stick single handedly with a fluid grace as he placed his hat against a chair, aiming with precision at the clump of cue balls in front of him. With one swift move, he struck the center of two closely placed balls, sending them each into different slots as the men whistled admiringly. Aoshi let a suave smile come over his features as he said smoothly, "Your turn, Doctor Bretton." The aforementioned man was definitely the cleverest of the figureheads and politicos gathered in the room that afternoon. He stood with regal bearing, with well-chiseled features and a high brow: the man cut a fine figure in the room, even among his other European friends. Bowing in mock-reverence, the copper haired business lord tilted his hat to Aoshi as he murmured in response, "Wonderful English, Hanabusa-san." Aoshi let amused approval show through as he heard Dr. Bretton's well-cultivated Japanese—he showed no shame in having learned an Asian language, which was quite against the usual Imperialist standards for European men, even for those who lived in Japan. Aoshi himself had picked up English with ease, along with French and German—he knew from experience that his English was flawless, even if it turned towards the American accent rather than the British. Aoshi watched him nonchalantly, taking in every minimal detail—the exquisite, golden ring encased with precious stones on his left hand and the slight scar that ran from the line of his jaw to his ear. He was an intriguing character, and possibly the perfect suspect. Watching the distinguished gentleman as he prepared to make his move, Aoshi followed him with his eyes, mutely reciting: _Choose, aim and strike_. The cue ball hit the remaining black ball neatly into its hole as Aoshi dimly registered the sound of polite clapping flooding into his head.

            "I couldn't have taken the jam, Sally, you should know that by now." Argh, was it should or would? She couldn't tell the damn difference between the two different tenses. Putting the slender grammar book aside, Misao stretched her supple frame as she suppressed a yawn. She was brushing up on her English skills so she could at least be presentable as an Ambassador's daughter-in-law. _English is so complicated_, Misao grumbled to herself as she opened an Italian classic that lay by her side. Now Italian, on the other hand, had an aquatic rhythm to it, a more logical structure and easier sounds to pronounce. She had taken to Italian immediately once she had the opportunity to learn a language of her choice—Italian was pure, unrestrained: _just how communication should be._ Opening _La Commedia Divina_ written by Dante Alighieri, Misao smiled luxuriously as she fingered the pages and drifted into the world of Dante, Beatrice and the _Purgatorio_. Bringing her slender legs to rest against the tabletop as she rested her feet on the chair's seat, Misao fit comfortably in the large armchair, one arm holding the weighty book up to her face and another holding a half-eaten apple languidly. She was so engrossed in the fantastical adventures of Dante that she failed to see that she had been a certain person's object of attention for quite some time. 

            "Shouldn't you be brushing up on your English?"

            Misao jumped—Goddammit, she hated it when he did that. Rising from her seat with a mild flush on her face as she put her book away guiltily, Misao bowed to her tall Okashira with a sheepish smile, "G-good afternoon, Ayo." 

            Inclining his head with a smile of sorts, Aoshi responded to Misao's wavering English with his own polished voice: "Good afternoon, my lady." In three strides, Aoshi managed to cross the room, hovering over her with remarkably close proximity. Misao couldn't tear her eyes off of his—once he had invaded her line of individual space, Misao found it hard to even think coherently. A dull thunk resonated through the small library as Misao remotely acknowledged that she had dropped her apple in surprise. A small flicker of amusement washed over Aoshi's features as he said, "'Should' has an obligatory tone to it, whereas 'would' has a subjunctive quality to it—it denotes possibility. Are you," he murmured as his face drew nearer to Misao's, "enlightened now?" 

            Misao smiled suddenly—Aoshi was quite the gentleman. Attempting to draw nearer to him, Misao grasped his shirtfront and stood tiptoe, as she whispered in response, "Not yet". Tilting her face upwards as she silently asked him for a kiss, Aoshi complied readily, his nose bumping against hers as he leaned forward to capture her lips. 

            "Hanabusa-san, your—Oh! I'm sorry for the interruption!" A maid, who had walked through the open door, had barged in on the intimate moment the couple was sharing. She bowed embarrassedly as she stuttered her apologies again and scampered out of the room. Misao and Aoshi, in the meantime, had separated hastily, their chests heaving with surprise and overwhelming emotions. Suddenly Misao gave him a shy smile as she said, "We look like a pair of kids who got caught red-handed with stolen fruit." Aoshi nodded in response, his eyes alight with wry humor. Then Misao did something neither of them had anticipated. She grabbed his collar and forced him to lean over so she could whisper something in his ear: "But just so you won't be disappointed…" Bringing her full lips hastily to his face, Misao gave him a swift peck on the cheek before she fled the room, her face flushing crimson to the very tips of her ears. Aoshi brought a gloved hand up to his face with surprise: _how far would they really take this act to?_    

Author's Note: and in response to the question about the likelihood of the Japanese Ambassador being held in captivity in Britain, here's my answer: I never even thought about it! Ohohoho… actually, I would presume that the same British sleazes who are negotiating with the Japanese over illegal arms in my story would take the Ambassador and keep him where they could see him (i.e. somewhere in Asia).

I actually don't know if pool was invented at the time (I'm guessing that Lingering Fragrances is a little later than the Meiji era… around the early 1900s).


	4. Twirling Skirts and Treaded Feet

OH! Sorry on the haziness on the last chapter's "kiss". If I may point out, it wasn't really an actual kiss, if I may quote myself: "Tilting her face upwards as she silently asked him for a kiss, Aoshi complied readily, his nose bumping against hers as he leaned forward **to capture her lips**." Aoshi was in the action of trying to kiss her and they were interrupted before intimate contact, so the only kiss given in the last chapter was the peck Misao gave him afterwards (Hence the "…just so you won't be disappointed" part from Misao). Why, you may ask, are you clarifying it when it doesn't seem to matter much to the plot? Well, to me, I find that Aoshi and Misao should not have mouth-to-mouth contact yet—neither of them is comfortable enough for it, which in my eyes brings inconsistency to my portrayal of the characters and the pace of their relationship. The real kiss? It comes **soon** in a much, much better (steamier 0_0) scene. Ohohoho! 

But no lemons! Sorry… can't write 'em.

Chapter 4: Twirling Skirts and Treaded Feet

**4a.**

            Misao touched her lips timidly—did she just have the audacity to kiss Aoshi? Shaking her head to dismiss all the nonsense that was cluttering her mind, the slender kunoichi pulled at her braid irritably. A fine job she was doing, letting her emotions run amuck like some silly, love-struck girl. Strumming her fingers lightly on the windowsill, Misao let a glowing smile creep over her features. She knew that once they would get this mission over with, things could _not_ go back to the way they were at the Aoiya, no matter how much Aoshi would wish for them to. Once she had shared a bed with him, she couldn't bring herself to refer to him as "Aoshi-sama" any longer—after watching him sleep, her outlook on their relationship changed permanently. The way his mouth opened slightly as he let out barely audible snores, his face serene and his body lax of all the rigidity and coldness he portrayed by day was infinitely endearing to her. That night had shattered Misao's image of him as an unattainable man: he was human, and although there were aspects in which he was clearly superior, wasn't it likewise with her? All in all, she was determined to have Aoshi, but wasn't quite sure how she would obtain her goal, inexperienced with the art of courting as she was. 

            The next day came soon enough. The couple, awkward with their new progress, yet eager to move towards deepening intimacies, was unsure of how to regard each other without ruining the finely kept balance between them. Aoshi had soon left in the morning in the attempt to bring himself even closer to the source of the case. He had left looking as polished as usual, while Misao decided to leave in her Western finery and meet the associate Saitou had sent to aid them with the objective of clarifying several of the fine points of the mission. The associate, who turned out to be someone totally unexpected, had first caught the young lady completely by surprise, but once she had settled "their" differences, a fairly ruffled Misao managed to make some advancement by securing a good ally for the case. Her curiosity at his current life situation and his mild countenance had soon convinced her that Seta Soujirou was no longer the Tenken, and was clever enough not to be an impediment in their affairs. By the time the sun settled towards the treetops, Misao and Soujirou were already poring over paperwork and documents, their heads bent closely together as they conferred over the possibilities and facts that could lead to the downfall of the Hanabusas' captors. 

"Misao-san? I think I found evidence of a certain Britton's discontent with the Meiji government."

"Here, lemme see. Ah, Bretton Spice and Herb industries." Taking the article up into the fading light, Misao read aloud, "Owner of a rapidly growing business of exporting rarities for Western medicine, Dr. Bretton contradicted the new laws commanding limited shipping and heightened security processes, claiming that the greater demand for such products in England and the fragile state of his imports did not bode well with the new requirements." Quirking an eyebrow when she met the young man's calm brown eyes, Misao muttered, "I'll bet—he's just trying to ship in weapons without anyone noticing. He's done a pretty good job so far."

Soujirou gave Misao an approving smile, "That's because he's murdered anyone who saw any sign of his weapons, and he holds an iron grip on all his men."

Misao gave a great yawn and glanced at the clock—six o'clock. Patting the former Tenken roughly on the back, Misao pulled herself up and said cheerily, "Well, I think that's enough for today. I can't keep 'Ayo' waiting for too long, ne?" She leaned over to give Soujirou a pinch on the cheek and smiled, "Nice workin' with you, Soujirou-kun!" 

Soujirou's smile never left his face the entire time, "I can say likewise with you, Misao-san."

"Keep it short: Misao's fine."

"Okay, then… Misao."

"Ja ne!"

Waving pleasantly, Soujirou waited until the young woman had left the office to nurse his inflamed cheek with a wince. Misao hummed a tune as she left the police station with her eyes alight—Saitou had chosen his men well, indeed. 

            Aoshi's eyes flickered over the room where the men talked with a veneer of polished ease. His eyes settled on Dr. Bretton once, twice—out of all the men in the city, Bretton was possibly the most dangerous. The distinguished doctor caught his idle gaze, smirked pleasantly and rose from his seat. He sauntered over to Aoshi, a glass of tawny champagne in his hand as he mused aloud, "I hope your wife does not find life in Nagoya tedious." 

            Aoshi answered smoothly, his eyes not breaking the other man's gaze as he lifted his glass in acknowledgment to the other man and took a sip of sparkling water, "Quite on the contrary, she seems to be glad to spend time with me." Half smiling at the slightly arched eyebrows and knowing smiles, Aoshi merely said in explanation, "We haven't been able to spend much… quality time with each other, before." 

            The tall doctor smirked again before he replied, "I see. Well, I am eager to meet your wife, Hanabusa-san. Will you take an invitation for two that I have for a gala at my place? It will be set three days from now, in fact. I am most desirous of having you both gracing my halls."

            Aoshi bowed gallantly—this was the opportunity Aoshi had been waiting for: "Most certainly, Dr. Bretton. My wife would be most pleased."

            "Mou, Chieko! How am I going to get this dance straight if I keep stepping and tripping on my skirts? The westerners are certainly the most absurd."

            Aoshi's eyes lit up in amusement—his young ward's voice resonated through the halls over the sound of clicking heels and the rustle of satin and lace. 

            "But Meiko-san, you must be elegant and poised for the dance tomorrow. Hanabusa-san and you are expected to lead one dance, at least." 

            Aoshi smiled minutely when he heard Misao moan dramatically, "Ah, woe is me. Whoever made me marry such a man? All I do is get whisked around like some life-sized doll." The women in the room gave into her easy humor and let out soft giggles. 

            Aoshi's first step resounded sharply in the dance room, making all the girls cease their merriment and look up in surprise. Aoshi gave them a slight bow before murmuring, "So, I assume that Fujitaka told you about the party, already." 

            Misao's fleeting, albeit affectionate smile washed over her features in regard to the old butler, who she had taken to almost immediately after their arrival to Nagoya, as she nodded, "Hai, Fujitaka-san was most terribly pleased with the idea, although I couldn't say the same for myself." Wrinkling her nose distastefully, the ladies around her laughed again. Her impromptu dance assistant, Chieko, smiled as she addressed Aoshi, "You see, Hanabusa-san, Meiko-san was most desirous of skirting any sort of dance lessons."

            "And bring embarrassment to me when we open the gala?" Aoshi's eyes shined with a hint of humor.

            Misao turned pale as she laughed nervously, "Opening dance?"

 Aoshi nodded, his eyes alight in striking azure. Turning to the ladies by Misao's side, Aoshi nodded and said, "If you would excuse us?" 

Misao gulped as the women trailed out the door, giving her lusty winks and knowing smiles. The young woman decided to pay attention to her fingernails rather than face her "husband". She; however, couldn't ignore the hand outstretched in front of her. With a sigh, Misao took it and said dejectedly, "You have to promise not to make fun of me if I can't dance well enough, okay Ao—Ayo?"

            Grasping her small hand with his large one, Aoshi regarded her with a steady look, his warmth encompassing her hand, "Aa."

            And they danced, and danced and danced. 

            Sweat trickled down the sides of her cheeks, and their hands were clammy, yet neither seemed to mind much. Misao couldn't believe dancing was so much fun. Laughing freely, Misao's radiant eyes sparkled as their ocean-sprayed intensity threatened to absorb Aoshi into their storm-tossed depths. At first, dancing had been awkward, with Misao stepping on his feet or tripping on her gown. He was patient and caring; however, and once she had gotten the basics down, Aoshi instructed her on the more advanced steps in a manner much like the way he directed her kempo training. Dancing, nonetheless, was much more intimate matter; Aoshi found her closeness addicting and was loath to release her from his grasp. He had accustomed to her touch, and she to his. With each step, their hearts opened a little more, until the moment when their eyes chanced to meet, and then they both realized that this was the most fun they had ever had with each other since the days when they were both children. Misao broke the tantalizing silence with throaty laughter, her chest heaving as she sat panting on the ground, "You're a wonderful teacher, anata. I'm almost looking forward to tomorrow night." And he—all he could do was smile.

            Misao felt dizzier than before—was he smiling? Shaking her head mildly, Misao looked up to find that he was impassive, as always, "Ayo, where did you learn to dance so well?"

            Aoshi hid his smile in time to answer her question with composure, despite the sweat beads collected at the bridge of his nose, "Whenever I went out for…business at such affairs, I made sure to observe everything—even the dancing. Once I had gone under martial arts training, I found it easy to pick up different dances."

            _Wow_. That was all Misao could think as Aoshi leaned over, offering his hand so she could take it to pull herself up. Misao felt herself get lightly yanked to her feet as she whispered, "Arigatou, Aoshi." The tall man's senses were perked—where did the honorific –sama go? Peering down at the young woman's face to find that she was already nearly senseless from being overworked with dancing, Aoshi gently brought his arm around her waist to steady her. Hiding his pleasure at the new changes the afternoon had brought, Aoshi led Misao out of the dance hall. Like the incongruence of their first steps in a dance, the couple had been at odds with one another, but with practice, they were now gliding in a timeless dance with growing harmony. 

**4b.**

_Liquid perfection_, Misao decided as she eyed the contents of her crystal glass, _that's what this stuff is_. Swirling the contents languidly with a slender hand, Misao brought the glass to her lips, sniffing the wine appreciatively as she peered into its burgundy clarity. The drink had a heady smell to it—it reminded her of a woody, clear autumn breeze. The claret fluid had pleased her aesthetic senses, so it couldn't taste _that_ bad, could it? Tilting her head back slightly, Misao opened her mouth minutely to take a tentative sip of the foreign beverage. _Gah! It's bitter_, she thought as she recoiled from the overwhelming taste of alcohol, putting the glass back hastily as she reached for a slice of pound cake to mask the strong aftertaste. She heard something that resembled a snort and turned to see that Aoshi was holding a hand up to his mouth as he coughed dryly. Misao frowned slightly: she doubted he had choked on his tea—he was probably just concealing his amusement caused by her naïve reaction to alcohol. She decided to ignore him, taking well-sized bites of her cake without any concern for the crumbs that littered her mouth and face. When the "coughing" had subsided, Misao turned to Aoshi with an arch look and asked, "What will we actually do during our 'evenings' together? Will we do anything more productive than meditating?" 

Aoshi didn't answer—his eyes were focused on her mouth. Misao licked her lips conscientiously to get rid of the crumbs spread all over her mouth and reached over to grab a napkin to clear off her face when his hand interrupted her action: "No, Meiko—allow me." Taking the napkin from her stilled hand, Aoshi brought it to her face slowly, his eyes penetrating hers with clear shards of blue as he cleared the crumbs off her face with painstaking care. Once he had taken the napkin from her face, he was surprised to find her lips curve into an unhesitant smile and her eyes lucid: she was becoming comfortable with his presence, and he found that for the first time, it didn't throw him into a state of anxiety and fear. Bold, bold spirit, her coaxing love and confident patience seemed to be winning him over. His eyes settled on those red lips once more as he murmured, "Things that are much more productive, koishii. Now," he continued in a smooth, low voice, "What kind of mischief have you gotten yourself into, as of late? I heard some dreadful news from the head cook that you were pestering her for lunch too early."

Misao ignored his last comment as she stepped closer to him, asking softly, "And you? You must tell me all about your excursions with the stuffed shirts you met today, anata." 

"Business? Why, it was absolutely stuffy." 

Misao let out rich, flowing bursts of laughter: he was actually amusing her! Bringing up a hand to toy with his shirt lapel, Misao said mock-seriously, "Besides more dancing lessons like yesterday? Well, I was starving by eleven, and the cook wouldn't let me into the kitchen yet, since she had seen the way I wolfed down breakfast. I completely disagreed with her reasons for making me wait until noon, and had a little… discussion with her." 

Aoshi quirked an eyebrow at the young woman before he resumed their playful banter with an inquiry of his own: "And what exactly was her reason for refusing you food?" 

He didn't miss her flushed look of exasperation as she muttered, "She said that I had to keep a good figure for my husband."

At this response, Aoshi allowed the briefest and smallest of smiles to flicker over his handsome figures as he answered languidly, "Well, she had the best of intentions in mind." 

"What? Out of all the perfectly chauvinistic—" Misao stopped short, bringing her hands down from his shirt collar. She seemed to be absorbed by some sudden fancy or thought, one slender hand resting against her chin in a whimsical, girly fashion. He half-smiled again; her eyes were the deepest of blues, lakes of distant, unfathomable thoughts that lent her a womanly grace. His eyes trailed from her eyes, down her sloping cheek, her graceful neck… she was quite fascinating, to say the least. His ministrations; however, were cut short by an unexpectedly well-placed question: "Why did you stop going to the temple, back when we were… visiting Kyoto for a while?" 

The question, though not wholly unexpected, was not anticipated at that moment, and Aoshi had the grace to look humanly perplexed before letting his mask slip back into place, "I found that my salvation didn't rest in meditation."

"Oh," was all Misao could manage, but it was a wholeheartedly pleased "Oh". Aoshi, bemused by her odd tone of voice, looked down to find Misao staring out the window, a private smile washing over her countenance, her eyes steadily fixed on the stars twinkling in the crisp night. He then _knew_: Misao the girl had always brought him tea, always showered him with her affections and concern. It was Misao the woman; however, who was patiently waiting for his meditation sessions to come to a halt, who was waiting for him to give her his all. And he, he had seen it all, and had chosen cowardly to hide under the pretense of meditation to avoid the woman who had gradually taken the place of the girl he had known so well. He wasn't really surprised; after all, the woman in Misao was getting quite impatient with his uncertainty—what was surprising was the fact she hadn't attempted anything drastic yet. He half expected her to attempt to seduce him in her bath or jump him at the night. He assumed that her self-restraint was part of her newly obtained womanly character. Pity, she would lose all the amusement of trapping her prey—now all the pleasure was his. 

He didn't take into account that Misao herself was quite capable of fending for herself, thank you very much. Before Aoshi could even blink, Misao turned abruptly and gave him a melting smile before whispering, "I am quite worn out today, anata. I'll go to bed before you do, if you don't mind." Misao didn't feel up to playing around with the one thing that was out of her grasp—she was tired of such emotional tumbling. Rather than waste her energies trying to dissect the mystery that is Shinomori Aoshi, Misao opted for a good night's rest.

Aoshi blinked with well-disguised dissatisfaction, "Aa. Oyasumi, Meiko."

"Oyasumi, Ayo."

He had drunk the rest of his tea in silence, absorbed in the matters of the day, Misao… the Oniwabanshuu, Misao… the culprit for taking the Hanabusas hostage, Misao… _Enough!_ He growled to himself. It was bad enough that she haunted his sleep, bringing infinite temptations to him when he knew that she would be asleep by his side during those dreams, those nightmares. Shaking his head to release the amounting tension Aoshi felt, he smiled wryly: before he had found it too easy to forget her face in his madness, and had even feared losing her image in his mind. He had consulted it in his most despairing moments, those years when he had been alone with his men, and after, when he went after the title of the greatest. Now, he found that he was trying his best to dispel those images, because they wouldn't leave him in peace. 

Walking slowly up the stairs, Aoshi loosened his tie and opened the collar of his shirt, bringing him instant relief. When he had arrived to his—their bedroom, he saw that the door was left ajar, and Aoshi opened it a bit to inch his way through, pausing when his eyes settled on the woman before him. She had her back to him as she sat in front of her vanity mirror, attempting to disentangle her hair with a comb. Wild—she looked wild, free and incredibly alluring. His breathing came jagged as he stepped away from the door and opted to watch her deal with her hair. Misao stopped her actions suddenly; looking into the mirror with wide, dark eyes and seeing Aoshi's reflection stare at her in the glass. Turning around swiftly, Misao's tousled hair whipped around, her eyes uncomprehending when she met his eyes with hers. Something in his gaze threw her off, and she searched his eyes, noting that his chest was heaving as if he had ran a great distance without stopping, and his hands were trembling slightly, as if he ached to… do something with them. Then she _knew_. With a low cry, Misao threw her brush aside and stood up as Aoshi strode across the room, his eyes savage. She licked her lips anxiously, and awaited his presence with a fluttering heart and fervent expression, trapped in place by his possessive eyes. In a matter of seconds, he was before her and around her. He had grasped her roughly by the waist and pulled her against him for a searing kiss. Misao eagerly wrapped her arms around him, fisting his shirt's material as she stepped deeper into his kiss. All hesitation and precautions forgotten, their noses had bumped in this frantic meeting of mouths, and before either of them had come up for air, Misao found herself lying against their bed, caressing Aoshi's back as he stroked her inner thigh. When their lips parted, they looked into each other's faces, and what she read in his expression made her smile: _So much for a good night's rest_, Misao thought with amusement as she watched Aoshi undo the clasps of her dress. 

Author's notes: Urgh… I'm being utterly ambitious these days! Balancing several stories at once confuses me, not to mention that it probably confuses my readers as well. Miyan-heh… The stories I'm actively working on are: "_A Whisper of Grace_", "_Lingering Fragrances_", "_Makimachi Misao's Diary_" (yes, I'm almost done with the third chapter!), "_The Crux of the Moment_" (Sorry, I've never read "Saitou's angels"… does it seem like I've ripped off ideas from that story?), and _The Most Incompatible of Unions_ (Agh! I didn't know that fiancée and fiancé were different! I just chose the closest word on Microsoft Word Auto-Correction that was on the list… as you can see, Kmye-chan, I don't know a bit of French… I'm a Spanish student…Ole!). It kinda helps that I'm smack in the middle of spring break; I have more time to work on stories. Unfortunately, I think I'm all burned out, and now have a semi-writer's block. Gimme some time to recuperate (after all, I think I've posted like four updates in the last two days).

Major progress between Aoshi and Misao, ne? Wink wink…


	5. Tension

**NOTE**: The last chapter did seem rushed, ne? Most of you who have grasped a feeling for what kind of writer I am have probably thought at one point: Wait a minute, isn't she rushing things? Aoshi and Misao in bed _already_? I agree: they were hasty, especially if you take the more chaste relationship between the two I had portrayed in "Muted Discourse" (good kids… they waited until marriage). But with all the locked up emotions and restraints the two of them had pent up inside of them, it's no wonder they went a little wild once they were given some freedom (no Jiya, no Aoiya, they're on their own—what do you expect?), so it's actually _not_ so unexpected. Sorry, I don't like writing perfect fics in which everything comes out stardusted, sparkling and beautiful. In this story, Aoshi snores and Misao ruins an article of clothing in nearly every chapter. Anyways, onto the next chapter…

Chapter 5: Tension

This was wrong—things had blown out of proportion the night before.

            Aoshi awoke when the first glints of the sun shined playfully in his eyes, only to freeze up inside when he saw Misao asleep by his side. Naked with only her pooling hair glistening in the soft light to cover her, the peace of sleep emitted a content beauty that he had never seen on her features as of yet. Hesitant, Aoshi's long fingers reached out and grabbed a silky tress of her ebony hair, enjoying the feeling of its texture under his thumb and forefinger. He knew what they had done was wrong, especially when self-control was crucial for the success of their mission, but he didn't regret it one bit. He had awaken with a feeling of euphoria that couldn't be compared when he had seen that the woman he had wanted for so long by his side—his; she was his. 

Misao awoke to greet the sun, its golden slivers of light sparkling against the clear glass of their room. She felt odd—strangely sore, yet satisfied. In fact, she hadn't felt that sated for a long time. She looked around the strange room bemusedly, still not quite awake, and wondering how the Aoiya could have changed so drastically. _Baka!_ She admonished herself, _That's because you're in Nagoya with Aoshi!_ She started forward, clenching the folds of the bed sheets to her chin, simultaneously recognizing she was naked under the covers…_Aoshi_. A deep rose tinted her cheeks as she looked around frantically for the man who had shared her bed  (in the true meaning of it) and found that he was nowhere in sight. Sighing tremulously, Misao sat back against the bed, propping her chin up with a slender arm, deep in thought. _That was quite unexpected from both of us_. She didn't rue the moment of their union, but she did regret the rashness in which they gave themselves up so easily. _So much for an onmitsu's self-control_, she mused dryly, fingering her unruly locks pensively. Now what to do? Knowing Aoshi, he had probably left for work to avoid seeing her in the morning, and now she was left to deal with the constant reminder of their night of passion alone in this dull, foreign house. 

_Grrr!_ With frustration, Misao moaned deeply and grabbed a pillow, beating it repeatedly against the bed. Once she had finished venting part of her anger, Misao looked up with her cheeks colored from exertion to see Aoshi staring at her by the bathroom door. He had a towel around his neck and his jet-black hair glistening with moisture, portraying cool eminence even when his face was flushed from the hot bath. He nodded curtly before returning to the bathroom, his voice cold and more distant than usual, "Did you rest well, Meiko?" Misao's eyes narrowed and she leapt out of bed: if that was the way he was going to be, she was truly on her own. Without answering him, Misao walked quietly over to the closet, threw on some clothes and then slipped her feet into a pair of slippers—she needed some time alone to think this mess out. 

Aoshi had watched her throw the pillow around with understanding—this was going to be a long week for both of them. They had rushed matters in their fervor, and now they would have to pay with infinitely more temptations. Catching her eye once her tantrum had subsided, Aoshi bid her a frosty good morning, which he could tell did not rest well with Misao, since he had felt a surge of anger blaze in her ki. He returned to the bathroom to dry his hair and felt Misao quietly leave the room moments later, as quiet and stealthy as a cat. He was sure that she went out to deal with things her own way; in other words, she would be throwing yet another fit outdoors. She had always found comfort in the outdoors—she was nature's child at heart, and he—he would have her no other way. 

And sure enough, there she was—kicking up a ruckus in the garden. Biting her fist roughly, Misao blinked back frustrated tears as she stormed about, sending stones and pieces of grass flying with her fury. Soon she felt like she was weary from fighting herself, she sat dejectedly on the grass, hair tumbling down her back and slippers soiled from her exertions. Cradling her head with two small hands, Misao gripped her hair in anger—was being an adult so frustrating, so confusing? If that was the case, it would have been better if she had cherished her childhood for a little longer, lingered where the fragrance of innocence and ignorance were one and acceptably interchangeable. She had thought what had happened between the two of them was beautiful, even if not thoroughly planned out. True, they had acted like anything but mature adults the night before, but she felt so complete. Aoshi, however, broke her fairytale image of their time together with his coldness, his nonchalance. And if she was with child? Could she deal with such a man as the father of her child? No—that wasn't even a smart question; he would love the child unconditionally. He never had qualms with loving her when she was a child. What she feared was his not loving her enough. She would not cry—crying was for the weak, she told herself steadily, even as her chest heaved with the effort of keeping her anger down. As she peered at the naked blue of the sky, Misao felt herself unknot under the natural splendor of an ordinary day: _if laying myself bare for one to see me in my utter truth brings pain, then why do I insist on doing so? _But she already knew the answer: _because love demands such honesty_…

She was quite a picture with her unbound hair streaming all over the place and her feet shuffling about in house slippers. He wished to have the courage to face her in her righteous anger, comfort that wild beauty until she took him in her arms and returned the favor. Kami-sama knows he needed comforting. He could; however, only watch from afar, his large hand resting against the large glass window as he watched her prone figure bear her solitude in the morning sun. Her back stiffened, she sensed his presence. Slowly, she got up to her feet, dusting herself off hesitantly as she looked up to meet his eyes. The two lovers stood, separated by a wall of glass, the tension nearly suffocating them. Misao's expression, one of pleading helplessness and dejection, lasted only for a matter of seconds. Aoshi blinked as he saw the young woman's countenance drain the sadness and grow fiercely beautiful with determination. Walking steadily up to the glass, Misao stood so close to the glass that Aoshi could see her hot, moist breath fogging up the clear crystal. With a firm expression and unwavering ocean-sprayed eyes, Misao pounded her fist suddenly against the glass as she said calmly: "We need to talk this out like adults, Aoshi. Don't run from me." For the first time that morning, Aoshi smiled.

The sun played over her features in broken rays, illuminating her sea-misted eyes to a paler sky blue. She gave him a tentative smile, a faint blush tinting the apples of her cheeks and her nose as she reached over hesitantly to grasp his hand, her hold weak so she could give him a chance to refuse her touch. He didn't. As a matter of fact, he clutched at her hand tightly, feverishly. His previous wish to stay away from Misao proved futile, but being near her did nothing to relieve his anxiety. They soon stopped by a sturdy wooden bench underneath a slender, verdant momiji tree, each taking a seat with a respectable distance from the other. Misao swallowed unsteadily as she let her gaze roam over the garden before she let a rueful smile appear on her lips—if she had stayed in the Aoiya, her garden would be growing steadily under proper care by now. She averted her gaze to her clenched hands, biting her lower lip in apprehension—now she knew something else was growing, but she was uncertain about the fruits of _this_ garden: if mislead or deceived, the gardener of this patch could destroy her cultivating love. She let out a tremulous sigh, the wispy locks of her hair riding the wind. 

She was deep in thought, her rich lashes hiding her crystal eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She looked so vulnerable—like a glass figurine that would break if dropped but once. Aoshi felt his heart wrench—would he risk shattering something so exquisite, so rare? He suddenly came into terms with the severity of their relationship. With one misstep, he could mangle her heart, making her close her blooming heart permanently from the world. Was he competent enough to shield her heart and keep it? Aoshi had his doubts—he never knew what she had seen in him, since the first day her feelings became evident to him, Aoshi had regarded her with wonder: how could any one have the ability to love a recluse like him? Perhaps she had a limitless heart, encompassing and wonderful in its spread warmth. Or perhaps she, the only one besides Okina in the Aoiya, had seen what he had been before the fall of his comrades, the man he was with his soul intact. Then when he had returned, a wasted man with but shattered fragments of his essence, she had decided to mend his broken self with her love. Was she capable of such a feat? Was he capable of sitting passively and watching her ache alone in her attempts to try and reach out to him? Aoshi looked over at the young woman by his side. His ward? No longer—they had overreached their limits last night, bringing their relationship to yet another level: that of lovers. Aoshi saw her sigh acutely, her face shadowed by the towering tree. She was submerged in shadows, looking so lost that Aoshi ached to touch her hand at the very least. It was then when he made up his mind—he would not sit immobile; if she were to fall in an abyss of turmoil, he would fall with her. He reached over and clasped her hand firmly, his sorrowful, yearning eyes claiming hers when she looked up startled out of her gloom. 

And she smiled. 

"Aoshi," she said softly, "You look so worried." 

"Misao, I won't let you fall."

Misao looked at him curiously, uncomprehending as she peered into his face anxiously, "What about me falling?" When Aoshi did not respond, merely tightening his hold on her, Misao inched forward a bit more, scrutinizing Aoshi closely as he looked out at the garden impassively. He did not need to question her skills in reading him; after a few minutes of prolonged silence, Misao's eyes lightened considerably as she laughed freely, her voice bringing instant relief to his tension, "Why, Aoshi! Do you doubt me? I will not despair, and I certainly won't give up!" She then stepped up impulsively, holding his head against the hollow of her chest as she laughed in relief. Aoshi wanted to laugh in relief as well—as usual, she had uplifted his gloomy preoccupations and had relieved his anxiety with her incorrigible optimism and her faultless faith. Her drive was admirable; now he knew that he was more likely than she to plunge into depression, and that if he did, she would be there to soften his fall. And all it had taken for her to cheer him up was her twinkling laughter, her few words and a comforting embrace. An embrace he would not have dared to seek but a month ago. He reached out and wrapped his arms around her gently curving hips, breathing deeply as Misao's voice resonated clearly in his ears, "Aoshi?" 

Her voice betrayed a slight tinge of worry. Aoshi loosened his grip on her and gently pushed his head back, making her release her hold on him. His face was as unresponsive as usual, but his eyes held a degree of warmth and love that made her heart beat faster, and best of all, they held a glimmer of hope that made her push away all previous fears. He looked up, his eyes searching hers as he murmured, "We have a party to attend to tonight, Meiko. You still need to improve on some of your dance steps."

Romantic? Hardly, and yet Misao did not feel disappointed. Their way of making amends was far from the fantasies Misao had concocted before, but she knew that progress had been made. After all, it wasn't every day that Aoshi revealed himself so plainly, and like she had concluded earlier, love demanded such honesty. The onmitsu-turned-lady gave Aoshi a slight curtsy, "By all means, Ayo. Will you teach me the rest of the waltz you introduced me to a few days ago?"

"Certainly."

The slender young man tucked his hands into the folds of his kimono shirt in the attempt to keep them warm. He peered out of his window with a semi-smile, barely there—a just hidden reminder of his bloody past. His boyish looks somehow looked strained under the pressure of the night. He slipped a hand out and ran it through his cropped hair, grayish-blue eyes attempting to hide the frustration that writhed behind the dark depths. It had been so much simpler to follow a strong man in blind faith, putting all other logic for another supreme logic—a ruthlessly simplistic view of life that had nearly ruined everyone else's. Now that he was on his own, he had no one to trust and nothing to put faith in than himself and the power of his own hands, a power that he was wary of wielding. Soujirou let out a breath to calm his mixed emotions: this night would be a night for him to reckon with. Social intricacies and the subtle battle of words was not his forte. He let a reluctant but more genuine smile flitter over his features suddenly—he knew he would not be alone in this formidable test of aptitude. He could count on having Misao-san and Shinomori-san aid him; they were, after all, on the same side of the coin. He had to give props to the notorious Mibu Wolf: his skills were nearly insurmountable. How in the world he had managed to coax (no, coaxing was not in his nature; more like deign to offer) the once maddened Okashira of the utterly elusive Oniwabanshuu and his overprotected ward to work with him was inconceivable. That the stealthy police officer had managed to sniff him out and coerce him to work off his crimes in retribution also spoke measures for his cleverness. And he—he was satisfied if not a bit relieved that he would have time to take his mind off of the frightening memories and bloody nightmares his past had haunted him with. Soujirou relaxed abruptly, his hand brushing against the hidden sakabatou by his side; he would be all right. He had; after all, mastered the art of social placidity and indifference through his shrouding smile. The carriage came to a halt, and Soujirou arose automatically, noticing with some discomfort that the ceremonial kimono he wore was somewhat limiting if not utterly impractical in his terms. Little did he know that his previous partner in crime had been thinking the same thought as she stepped out of her carriage with her hand in her Okashira's. 

These damn restricting petticoats! Misao gritted her teeth and scowled up at Aoshi's slightly amused face as she took his hand, stepping carefully out of the carriage so she wouldn't trip on or tear her fine lace. Once outside, Aoshi gave her a brief, intense look before swiftly turning to the coachman and offering his thanks in an undertone with his back to Misao. Misao shivered slightly—even under the thick, velvet cloak she had wrapped around her, she felt the chill seep into her bones. It was not the chill caused by the cold, nor a visiting breeze; she was eagerly anticipating this night, and she prayed that she wouldn't screw it up royally. 

"Ready, Meiko?" Misao frowned slightly when she registered Aoshi's presence by her side: _note to self—be extra careful with names. Must not call Aoshi anything other than Ayo. Ayo, Ayo, Ayo…Aoshi. Damn!_ She felt his hand securing her elbow firmly and looked up, seeing a slight warning pass through his blue depths. _Oh, and remember to smile_. The ninja pasted one on her face; her body tensing as she faced the impressive mansion with barely contained awe. This Dr. Bretton, whoever he was, had to be filthy rich to own a palace like this one. Her gaze roamed from the spacious, pristine garden with its healthy lawns to the ivory statues that graced the front of the mansion complete with an extravagant fountain set before the entrance. Misao's gaze turned from the mansion to meet the glance of the man by her side. She didn't know what was more magnificent—the mansion or Aoshi. He was dressed impeccably with midnight silk shirt tucked underneath a black, crisp suit, a sharp cravat tied stylishly at his neck. She suddenly felt her face flush and regretted she hadn't put make up on—it would have made it easier for her to hide her emotions.

She appeared to have emerged from the forests; her nymph-like features graced by an elegant yet free mauve dress. She looked exquisite, not anywhere near the young girl he had left behind all those years ago. Her face was blissfully free of beautifying agents, just a dab of rouge on already rosy lips and a dash of turquoise eye makeup to emphasize her wide, sparkling sea-kissed eyes. A healthy flush graced her features and he surprisingly felt a faint inclination to color himself when he caught her eyes roaming over his body appreciatively. Instead, he released his hold on her elbow and offered her his arm, nearly blinded by the sun-drenched smile she bestowed upon him at his offer. 

He looked around languidly, his half-lidded emerald eyes searching the already bustling ballroom with mild interest, searching for a particular figure. Hanabusa Ayo—the son of the Japanese ambassador. He had thought there was something amiss with him, some sort of falsity. He was not worried yet; his secrets were always well guarded with the best money could buy. He smiled somewhat coldly as he took a proffered cigar from a servant—he would find out all about this man. If he proved to be an impediment to his business, both open and hidden, he would find ways to get rid of him quietly. Besides, there was the man's wife to take into account. He became conscious of a sudden hushed halt to all conversation, the turning of heads and the quieting of hand fans. He saw the direction of the crowd's eyes turn towards the entrance and knew that his special guests had arrived. 

A drastically painted woman inhaled sharply as she took in the figures of the latest arrivals. The woman—she was nothing compared to the masterpiece by her side. He was tall, distinguished and powerful. His icy blue eyes pierced through the gaze of any person who deigned to meet his eye, his unyielding chin betrayed pure masculinity, his smooth movements betraying a leonine grace. He was dressed impeccable after the European fashion with his black suit and white gloves—all the better; she had always had a preference for polished men. Snapping her fan shut decisively, she took a glass of champagne and drank from it impatiently, almost greedily—she was insatiable. With one purpose in mind, the okami Natsuko thrust aside her empty glass and sauntered through the burgundy satin curtains with the intent of getting a better look at her new challenge. Little did she know that she was being watched suspiciously by a hidden, smiling man. 

Misao impressed him. Not once had she given away her nervousness; although, he had felt her hold on him tighten faintly as she walked by his side. She was aware that all eyes were on them at their arrival, and had resisted the immediate urge to run away from all the finery, all the superficiality. Aoshi leaned over and murmured words into her ear in a manner that would seem that he was whispering words of relief or endearments in her ear. The crowd twittered in an undertone, avid curiosity aroused by the mysterious couple. Whatever he had actually uttered to her had done wonders: Misao's breathless beauty stepped back to make way for a greater degree of loveliness with the added ease of her smile and truly relaxed features. Aoshi threw a glance across the room even as he repressed a smile—now he could be sure that she would perform her best. 

_She_ was Hanabusa's wife? Bretton smirked with pleased amusement and roguish anticipation: she was a lovely toy, one of those porcelain doll-like Japanese women the men kept to themselves like precious virgins. The tall Caucasian removed his cigar smoothly and eyed the approaching couple, his green gaze calculating and swarthy. She would be the perfect tool to get under the man's skin. He could tell that Hanabusa was very protective of her just by the way he lent her his arm and led her to him, always a half step ahead of his wife, as if he would part the seas for her. These unsullied Nippon ladies—he would show her what pleasures he could reveal to her, like he had with many others countless times before, and she in turn would let words tumble out of her naïve mouth. After he was through with her, he would make the proud Asian man fall. The tall man stepped forward, his arms outstretched in welcome, "I'm glad you could join us, Hanabusa-san! And who is this beautiful woman by your side?"

Aoshi repressed a frown and opted for a pseudo-smile instead—he could see right through the European man, and what he saw were lurking threats and malicious intentions. Unconsciously stepping forward so he could keep Misao slightly behind him, he delivered a curt bow, "She is my wife, Hanabusa Meiko." Misao let go of his arm gently and gave him an endearing smile before turning to Bretton and curtsying deeply, her voice clear and pristine, "A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Bretton"

"The pleasure's all mine." Aoshi froze slightly as he felt the copper-haired man's dark eyes seek out Misao's, his lips curved up in a polished smile as he grasp her hand and kissed it in a manner which would have been indecent had he added a bit more fervor to it. Aoshi's eyes swept over Misao's face, noting her deep flush and her nervous smile. Definitely not a good start. 

Misao slipped her hand away, her face betraying her discomfort with such an action. Aoshi stepped forward and opened his mouth to excuse her behavior when Misao regained her composure deftly and articulated softly and good-naturedly, "I am sorry, Sir. I just am not accustomed to the attention of any other man besides…" she stopped thoughtfully, bringing a hand to her cheek in mock-contemplation, "besides my dear husband and my old grandfather." 

Aoshi permitted a minute smile—wonderful recovery. The Britton laugh heartily, "Why, I am surprised it is so, my good lady. You appear to possess not only grace and beauty, but a keen sense of humor as well." Aoshi threw his companion a muted look: _among other surprising qualities… _

Misao then dipped her head in what seemed to be a flattered smile, "I am honored, Dr. Bretton."

"And I would be the most honored if the two of you would open the ball tonight."

Steely cobalt eyes collided with eyes the color of crisp grass, "We would be honored."

Misao brought her arms to grip his shoulders, her voice hoarse and throat dry, "Here goes nothing." 

Aoshi peered into her eyes for a prolonged moment before he murmured, "Do not hold on too tightly, you will betray your emotions."

Misao grinned lopsidedly, her stance relaxing almost immediately as she retorted in a whisper, "What, and look like you?" Faint signs of a smile traced through his features as Aoshi rested his hand on her slender waist and enclosed her hand with his. Misao let out a slight sigh; his hand was warm and comforting. She closed her eyes slightly when the music sifted throughout the room, keeping the tempo in her mind. Suddenly, Aoshi started and Misao's eyes flickered open. Collected synchronization and fluid ease—the couple waltzed across the room with ease and expressions of cool enjoyment, even as the small ninja felt like she was soaring. Her calm stage smile was replaced with a genuine one as she danced to her heart's content. 

Glossary:

Momiji: Maple (I think)

**Author's note**:

 I personally like the idea of a Dr. Bretton—smooth, debonair villain (oops; did I give anything away?), like the ones they have on James Bond.

Soujirou's a cutie, in the little brother sense, but he's a little too creepy for my tastes (sorry… I see nothing attractive in a guy that smiles _all the time_).

Now Misao, she's really something, if we're talking about intriguing characters. Nobuhiro Watsuki-shi certainly chose to portray her character during a vulnerable age (barely older than a child, but still not yet a woman), and yet she still had such strength of mind and spirit that it is almost inevitable that with the right guidance, she would become a beautiful woman. Sure, she's bratty, and she's loud, but sixteen is a killer year for most, and true cheer seems to be embedded in her character. I assume with time and much patience, Misao becomes a charming, eloquent (but not babbling), illuminating adult. That is the precise remedy Aoshi needs, which is why I'm so inclined to write only A+M (although E+M tends to come out nicely, especially when Midori Natari Himura writes it, I can't write do it myself… Aoshi _needs_ Misao; I can't deny him anything. Ohohoho). 

I recall there was someone who asked how he/she could improve his/her writing skills… all I can recommend is to read a lot of books (I personally love reading), and to just write in a journal regularly out of whim—some of my favorite papers came from totally random thoughts. Anyone else care to add more advice for improving writing skills? I'm sure there are some great writers out there who could give better advice. 

I have never truly thanked those who have reviewed for me (and those who sympathized with me when I moaned and griped needlessly). Sankyuu!!!


	6. Blind and Waiting

Chapter 6: Blind and Waiting

Misao glided across the dance hall like a soaring shadow, except that she shone as radiantly as any nocturnal beacon by the sea. She was the object of many men's admiration, with her dramatically painted scarlet lips and wide ocean-bathed eyes. Aoshi let his eyes rake over her figure with guarded approval, watching as she twirled in her partner's arms. Unsurprisingly, her next partner was the poised Dr. Bretton, whose eyes had been on her since she had stepped into his mansion. She was floating on the dance floor in an exquisite creation of dark mauve silk, her normally plaited hair washing over her bare back like an abundant fountain of ink, held back only by the jade hair clip she had worn on their first morning in Nagoya. Her eyes glittered; it was clear she was having the time of her life, effortlessly falling into the position of Hanabusa Meiko as she swayed in the gentleman's arms. After the opening dance, Aoshi withdrew to the furthest end of the ballroom, talking tersely but courteously to a circle of ladies, impeccable in his black suit and polished shoes. He wore a midnight blue shirt under the coat, which brought out the light in his eyes, the color in his skin. It seemed that Misao was not the only one impressed by his features—when the formal introductions and greetings had been exchanged, Aoshi found himself surrounded by a considerable number of ladies, which left Misao watching him with barely contained amusement. It wasn't long before she found herself surrounded by a crowd of her own—that is, until Dr. Bretton had whisked her away down the ballroom.

"What are you thinking about, Miss Meiko?" 

Misao looked up, startled out of her thoughts, expecting to see Aoshi, but she saw Dr. Bretton instead, "Nothing really," she answered in lightly accented English, "I just was thinking about how good this party was turning out."   
            Mr. Bretton smiled at her as he good-naturedly pointed out her error, "You mean 'well' instead of 'good', right Miss Meiko?"

Misao flushed: "Oh, sorry."

"No, it's quite alright—you speak English well for a second language." 

Misao arched an eyebrow delicately, "Actually, it's my fourth language."

It was Mr. Bretton's turn to give her a startled look, although his looked faintly more dignified and closed off compared to hers, "Oh, really? I am sorry for my assumption. Pray, could you tell me which ones you know?"

Misao cursed inwardly: damn her wayward tongue! Pasting a smile on her face, she answered composedly, "In order of fluency, I can speak Japanese, Mandarin, French and English." Actually, that was a bit of a fib—she was still brushing up her conversational skills in Mandarin, and she was by no means fluent in English, as her partner had so kindly pointed out to her but a minute before.

"French? Well, you should visit me often, Miss—I have a shelf full of French classics that I wouldn't know for the life of me to understand. It would be a great honor if you would come and translate them for me."

Misao nodded her head in apparent gratitude as she murmured, "I would be most delighted to". _Not_.

He smirked, satisfied with her answer as he looked away at Aoshi, his eyes calculating as he thought, _Well, Ayo, I have your wife in my clutches. I wonder what you would do about it—she seems ripe for the taking, probably one of those doe-eyed innocents the Japanese guard with their lives. It will be… entertaining to have her for a while_. 

Misao inhaled shortly; they were dancing much too closely for comfort. She threw a quick glance over his shoulder, catching Soujirou's eye as she pleaded with him to liberate her from the foreigner whose eyes devoured her. The former Tenken was dressed impeccably in formal Japanese attire, his easy smile making him the subject of interest amongst many of the younger ladies. He had been entertaining some young geishas when he caught Misao's muted message, excusing himself amiably as he walked over to his associate at the end of the waltz intently, "I believe that the waltz is over, Bretton-san." Bowing respectfully to the Britton, he offered his hand to Misao, "And if I may ask this lady to another dance?"

Bretton let Misao go reluctantly, giving Soujirou a sharp look as he let her hand go, his eyes shifting around the room before they rested on something. Whatever he saw made him smile suddenly and deviously. Misao and Soujirou looked over to what had caught their host's glance, only to be greeted with the sight of Aoshi gazing upon the three of them with a woman hanging on his arm. Misao turned casually and gave Hanabusa a fixed smile and a graceful bow that did not betray her tension, "I thank you for the waltz." _And for the opportunity to squeeze information out of you like a sponge_. She then turned her back to the man and gave Soujirou a hard look, which prompted him to start dancing, carrying her away from the foreigner, and from Aoshi. 

Aoshi returned the foreigner's smirk with a steady gaze after he had watched Seta Soujirou whisk Misao away in his arms. He knew how scandalous he appeared in their eyes, and he had seen the masked hurt in Misao's expression, no matter how minute the look she had given him. He gave Bretton a small dip of his head before he turned with his lady companion and walked out of the dining room. He gazed downwards to meet the lady's eye with a sheen of contempt. She was no lady; in fact, she had practically offered herself to him. Aoshi had immediately known she was a geisha by looking at her ostentatiously colored kimono. She looked up at him with a seductive gleam in her eyes, her face artfully painted as she fluttered her eyelashes at him and murmured, "Hanabusa-sama, would you like to spend more time to…get to know me better?" 

            Aoshi gritted his teeth together. Natsuko, the lady geisha, was apparently the okami of an okiya that Bretton was known to visit. It was necessary for him to establish a connection, but he was repulsed with the brazen attitude of the woman. He turned to her with a cool look, "Perhaps, when the timing seems more… discreet." 

            At this response, Natsuko smiled archly, simpering, "Oh, indeed. I had quite forgotten that Hanabusa-sama is married. Forgive my lack of discretion. I will leave." She bowed respectfully and turned to leave, but not before taking a business card out of the bosom of her dress and handing it to him with a beguiling wink. Aoshi frowned when he took the card—it was warm from her body heat. He utterly disapproved with the shamelessness of the okami and could barely return her bow politely before he left her, walking stiffly to the refreshments table. His eyes searched for Misao—he found her talking openly with Seta Soujirou, his hand resting on her shoulder as the two of them bent their heads together in hushed conversation. Aoshi suppressed a groan: at times like these, he wished that he had not vowed abstinence from spirits, because he felt like he could go for a good dose of cognac. 

            "Worn out already from all the gaiety, Hanabusa-san?"

            Aoshi turned around slowly, his face impassive as he registered his host, "Not yet."

            Dr. Bretton's eyes were lowered—he was looking at the wine glass in his hand before he brought his eyes to meet his guest's: "Would you care for some wine?"

            "No, thank you. I do not drink."

            The Briton smiled languorously, "Ah, what a pity. You are," he said as he swirled the claret liquid lazily with a twist of his hand, "missing out on one of life's simple pleasures." Aoshi merely bowed, but his senses were alerted: Bretton was not one to waste words idly. 

            "Can your wife drink?" 

Aoshi froze; the question seemed harmless enough if it had come from any other's mouth, but Aoshi immediately grasped the hidden intention behind the question the cunning doctor had placed. Aoshi let his eyes rest on his, a slight challenge blazing it its azure depths: "She can, but she chooses when and what she drinks."

The sound of low laughter filled the ballroom as Aoshi watched his host laugh with a blank countenance that hid a blazing heart. The red-haired man was not quite finished with the subject, however: "And what is your opinion of women who drink?"

"I tend not to give other women much thought."

Dr. Bretton smiled contentedly—he was dealing with a clever, clever man. One who could possibly rival his own craftiness. He lifted his glass in mock tribute to his tall guest before he withdrew. Enough toying with Hanabusa; he was content to merely watch him from the shadows for the time being. 

Both of them entered the carriage in the dark, silent and unyielding in their frustration and anger. Misao kept opening and shutting the delicate purse in her hands as Aoshi looked out of the carriage stonily, remembering of the sight of Misao so open with other men, which rested uneasily on his mind. Was their progress of the morning to be undone by a mere night on the job? When the carriage pulled up by the mansion's entranceway, Misao did not wait for Aoshi to open the carriage door for her and opened it herself, jumping out with an empty expression. She had not taken more than a few steps toward the door before she felt Aoshi's hand clamp onto her slender arm, holding her back forcefully: "We have to talk."  
            The petite kunoichi exhaled jaggedly before responding wearily, "Can't we leave it for tomorrow?"

"It must be tonight." His eyes flashed explicitly; all the emotions he had repressed during the party emerging at the surface as Misao averted her gaze.

"Very well, Ayo-san." Misao then pried his fingers off her arm calmly and walked onwards, her solitary figure looking vulnerable and infinitely small in front of the large doors. Aoshi looked no less lonely as he stood immobile by the dark coach, his dark features blending into the midnight twilight.

"I did not approve of how obvious you made it for others to see that Seta Soujirou is one of our acquaintances." 

Misao's eyes narrowed even as she saw the logic behind his statement. So he had seen her talk to Soujirou-kun, what of it? He had just saved her from getting in a rather too intimate situation with Dr. Bretton on the dance floor and had kept up the farce and composure of the situation well when he had taken her to dance, not letting her muddle over the sight of another woman hanging off Aoshi's arm, her gloved hand resting against his broad chest. _That witch_, Misao fumed inwardly as she glared at Aoshi, _and it's all thanks to Soujirou-kun that I know who she is, so I can stick her with my kunai_. Besides her apparent carelessness in being seen talking rather closely with Soujirou, she thought she had delivered a good performance—_so what the hell was Aoshi mad about?_ Soujirou-kun hadn't said anything suspicious; he had just answered her question about the lady-companion Aoshi had "met". It turned out she was a suspicious character as well, and she wouldn't be surprised if she had staked out Aoshi as her prey under Bretton's orders; she was, after all, the okami of the doctor's well-known okiya on the other side of town. Misao brought her pale hand to the bedpost and drummed her fingernails on it, her willowy form nearly dwarfed in contrast to the large canopy bed she sat agitatedly against. She opened her mouth to say something when Aoshi's low voice articulated, "I will not permit you to act in a provocative manner; it brings more distrustful eyes to us when our operation should be done in utter secrecy." 

Misao's eyes resembled piercing, blue sapphires as she opened her mouth to retort vehemently, "I should say likewise to you! How am I supposed to follow your example in a _decent manner_?" The possibility that Aoshi was jealous of the attention she had bestowed upon other men did not please her in the least—his manner relayed the message that if jealousy was indeed the stimulus for his hurtful words, then he wasn't quite ready to trust her.

The normally stoic man betrayed tumultuous emotions as he clenched his fists and stood over the seated woman, his eyes cold and menacing. Misao returned his gaze with fire of her own, steady under his wintry anger. He hovered over her for what seemed to be a lingering moment, but then he turned abruptly and headed for the bathroom, his deep voice resonating in her ears, "It is tiring to argue with you. Fine, you'll have your way; we will maintain an appearance of modesty—the both of us—in the company of others." 

Misao swung her legs onto the bed angrily, bristling at her comprehension of his words. _Enough_, she told herself harshly, _this is quite enough. What can a woman do in a world made for men?_ She knew what Aoshi had implied—it was much less noticeable for men to trifle with other women, but women who had such affairs were unheard of. Sliding under the covers swiftly, she covered her head with her pillow and wondered when sleep would befall her.

She could not sleep. Turning for what seemed the umpteenth time, Misao let out a noiseless sigh before getting up softly, careful not to awaken the man by her side as her feet stepped soundlessly on the polished, wooden floor of their room. She walked towards the curtained balcony, the coldness of the floor seeping through her barefeet as she approached the sliding door. She opened the curtains noiselessly and looked up at the moon with a blank expression and hungry eyes. She felt that the night was not enough—she could drink up the moon and dine on all the stars, yet her heart would not be satiated. Only in the solitude of the night did she give in, letting tortured, muted drops of sadness spring to her eyes. So close, and yet so far—her moon and she. 

Aoshi awoke suddenly, without explanation. He automatically brought an arm to his side and turned with alarm when he registered that the spot beside him on the bed was empty. He gazed around the room to find the missing occupant of his bed and found that she was standing before the balcony, her back to him as she gazed up at the endless night sky. He got up silently, his eyes intent on the immobile figure enveloped by the night, looking for fine tremors, weakness or any sign of physical grievance. He observed that she stood remarkably still and when he had almost reached her side, he saw her eyes peering up to the sky, glassy and full, her cheeks stained with the trail of her tears. Aoshi let out a low, bitter sigh, and at the slight disturbance, Misao turned around shakily, her eyes untamed and impossibly deep in the night. She registered the man by her side and then composed herself at once, her expression of natural anguish repressed by his unwanted presence, her countenance blank.  The fair young woman tucked the hair behind her ear tiredly, her shoulders stiffening when she sensed that Aoshi was going to step even closer to her, invading her private space. She fixed her gaze at the garden below shrouded by the night. Aoshi kept the silence, his impassive eyes surveying their surroundings. Suddenly, Misao relaxed and then said softly, "I used to do this when I was younger—wake up in the middle of the night and look over Jiya's garden." His eyes settled on the slender face of the ninja in front of him, wan yet so lovely. He awaited her next words in stony, unyielding silence, closing his eyes once he heard her voice once more, relieved, "I think there was a point in which I did that nearly every night: this watching and waiting." Aoshi's eyes opened slowly—oh, he knew too well who she had waited for. Misao turned to face him, her face vulnerably open and still so strong: "And now, after nearly five years…" her voice broke off into a throaty whisper, "I find that I'm still waiting." 

            She heard him exhale sharply and refused to turn and meet his eyes. Suddenly, she felt his hard grip on her arm and felt him forcefully turn her so she would face him, his eyes seething and dark in their aggravation. Misao gave him a blank stare even as she repressed the urge to cringe slightly; in his anger, he was quite formidable. Still, she stood her ground, even jutting her chin out all the more slightly to give him an arch look. His breathing grew uneven as he muttered in a low, uneven voice, "Can you not see?" 

She blinked suddenly, her expressionless charade evaporating when she noted the extent of his turmoil. She attempted to back away so that she could keep her composure, but she found that she had already backed up so far that she was straining against the glass door and that one of Aoshi's arms still had a grip on hers even as the other one came to rest precariously close to her head. Misao's expression darkened as well as doubt began to override her features, but she kept her voice free of all emotions as she murmured in response, "How can _I_ not see?" Suddenly, she was mad, as furious as he was: "How can _you_ not see?" she said heatedly, "Blind for all these years…" She brought her free arm rapidly to pry his grip off her arm, but he anticipated her move and held back her wrist so that she had both arms pinned. Misao opened her mouth to protest, her eyes flashing until she saw his face hovering but a few inches from hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips, "Can you not see that I am tired of waiting, tired of watching you wait?" And before she could even register the full implications of his words, she felt his lips crash against hers and then she lost all rational thought.

"Aoshi, next time if you want to, we could use the bed. I find that the floor is a little too cold." Aoshi looked down at the disheveled woman by his side, not betraying any emotion even at hearing the quiet, wry humor of her last words. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and dumped her on the bed by his side. Aoshi would not return her smile. Misao winced slightly—it seemed like lovemaking did not solve their misgivings, contrary to what they would have liked to believe when they had given in to their frustrations but a while ago. All it had done was calm them down a bit; an idea she found to be paradoxically amusing.

The kunoichi sighed before bringing a gentle hand to rest on her lover's shoulder, her voice shaky and genuine: "I apologize." 

The Okashira turned to meet the slender woman's solemn eyes with an equally serious expression, his eyes firm and chin characteristically obdurate as he looked over her with gravity. He held her gaze for an interminable and indefinite moment, then reached over and began to run the back of his hand against her unruly hair. It felt like fine strands of silk, like liquid strands of polished ebony. While his hand stroked her hair, Aoshi leaned over and whispered huskily, "I am sorry, too." With his words, Misao shivered faintly, but then turned slowly around, a smile barely apparent on her features as she whispered back, "I'm glad." 

Aoshi blinked once in bemusement, "Glad?"

Misao nodded, her smile growing as she took in his confusion, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, "I'm glad that you know how to say you're sorry, Aoshi…" She then breathed out airily, her slender figure straightening as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "Would you," she added, her face unexpectedly taking on an air of charming earnestness, "like to start things anew?"

She then stuck her hand out without a sign of a grudge and with open loveliness and smiled uncertainly at the somber man by her side. Aoshi sat very still for a moment, so still that Misao began to doubt her actions when he gave her a minute smile and took her hand firmly. She felt her heart leap with joy. He proceeded to yank her onto his lap. She then felt her heart skip a beat. Misao involuntarily blushed and stammered, "N-nani?" 

Aoshi leaned over her face, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "From now on," he murmured, "this is where you belong."

Author's response:

Thought x Crime: Thank you very much for a critical review. I esteem those the most—they are the ones that help me improve in my writing, and although I disagree with your comment on the window metaphor thing, I do appreciate your feedback very much.

The Black Gryphon/Kodachi&kunai: Yes, Sou-kun will have a bigger role, especially in the climax

Thanks for reviewing this story! Again, constructive comments are greatly appreciated!


	7. As Horas Nuas

            Standard disclaimer applies.

This chapter is dedicated to CAT H, the winner of the question I had posted at the end of my one-shot "Was It Meant to Be?" 

            The inspiration for this story? "Kissed by a Rose" by Seal (hella old song, but it's sooooo good!).

Chapter 7: As Horas Nuas

            _Did he know how much that tickled?_ Misao bit the bottom of her lip as the edges of her mouth curved upwards, threatening to break out into a full-fledged smile as she attempted to restrain her laughter. His soft, full mouth was wreaking havoc on her senses as he continued to nudge the soft flesh of her stomach. At the moment, he was focused on the small hollow of her belly, which allowed Misao no room to breathe. The petite kunoichi lost control and began to giggle unrestrainedly, her slender fingers gripping her lover's short midnight hair as she gasped, "A-Aoshi! Please… _stop!_" His ministrations halted abruptly, allowing her a brief moment to recover her breath before his mouth swept upwards causing her to promptly forget how to breathe again. When his intent became clearer and more aggressive, Misao managed to wrack enough self-restraint to put a gentle yet firm hand against her Okashira's chest: "No, Aoshi." At the tall man's silence, Misao let the hand that held him back rise to rest against his cheek, internally wincing as she prepared to state the obvious: "These sort of… activities tend to make women pregnant."

            Aoshi leaned forward, resting comfortably between her spread thighs as he stroked her side lightly, "Does that worry you?"

            Misao looked up at him with an inscrutable expression, numerous emotions flitting through her large cerulean eyes, "Yes it does." She sighed slightly as she stopped to lick her lips nervously: it was time to come in for the kill. The slender woman craned her neck upwards as she said gingerly: "I do not think this is prudent for the two of us, especially since we are in the midst of… pressing matters."

            His brow furrowed marginally: they were being reckless, to a certain extent. He grasped a slender hand in his, bringing it up to his lips as he kissed her knuckles softly, "If that is the case, we should restrain ourselves until…" 

Misao's heart leapt—was he going to say what she hoped he would say? 

"Until we have the case settled."

Her heart plunged. Misao turned her head abruptly as she hid behind her tumbling, unruly ebony hair. Did Aoshi even entertain the thought of taking her in wedlock? Her heart and mind both protested the idea that her okashira was merely using her as an outlet for his pleasure—it went against every principle she believed he stood for. Yet, why hadn't he mentioned his reasons for bedding her? She had hoped was that he would tell her he had taken her for reasons greater than desire. But he said nothing. And she would not stop short for anything except love. How were things looking for her at the moment? Vague, confusing, impenetrable… in short, everything that represented Aoshi.

            "Misao." 

That one statement encompassed it all: it was an inquiry, a command and a simple call for attention all in one. Misao strived to purge her countenance of all troubling emotions and gazed up into her lover's face with a forced smile, "Nani?"

"Tell me." Oh, his marvelous economy of words! Misao smiled genuinely this time, wondering if she would gain enough ground with him to make him talk… the way other normal human beings talked. She had to admit that he did get the main message through though.

"In due time." This was honestly meant. She was really in no condition to press matters of matrimony on him, as fresh and untried as their relationship was at the moment. Her best bet was to make sure that they kept their hands to themselves and thought things out before they… Misao was unable to keep herself from blushing, and promptly wished she could vanish under the sheets that were carelessly pooling around their lower bodies. Agh! They had already done it twice! Couldn't she get over the novelty of it? It didn't help that Aoshi was watching her under guarded yet growing amusement, his eyes gleaming against the pale hint of morning light. Now he was going to think that whatever had been occupying her thoughts was some trivial matter, some issue that mildly conflicted with her maidenly sense of embarrassment. When his eyes shone like that, she could feel their smoldering intensity scorch her skin. Gods, she had to get up, or she would jump him, which would consequently toss all her recently established restraints out the window. 

Misao scrubbed her face rather viciously, wishing that the cool water would take away the undesired sensations that raged underneath her flushed skin. Once they had gone so far, she mused to herself, it was nearly impossible to cease their intimacies, even for the sake of business. She tossed her head back, feeling the air cool her wet face as she groped for a towel. Her fingers latched onto one and Misao brought it to her face swiftly, eager to keep the water from slipping down her chest. Too late. The slender kunoichi let out a suffering sigh as she dabbed at her face, neck and chest, her eyes still shut. After wiping away any errant moisture, she let her eyes open, only to find Aoshi watching her mutely from the doorway, his eyes intent on her chest.

"Bretton expects you to live up to your promise, Meiko." 

Despite the softness of his touch from just a moment ago, and the novelty of the morning, Misao found herself sighing slightly—it seemed like they were already back to business. Fighting the urge to wrap her arms around the underdressed, tall man by her side, Misao resorted to grabbing a hairbrush and running it through her thick black hair. It was just as well, anyhow. She shouldn't urge him to fall into temptation, not when they had so much at stake. Misao backed away from him, turning to face her side in an attempt at nonchalance, muttering a few words as she tried yet again to school her features to tranquility: "Really? Well, that should prove to be… enlightening."

"I wouldn't be surprised if an invitation finds its way here within the span of a few days, if not today."

Misao laid down the brush with careful, slender fingers, flicking her hair over her shoulder casually as she turned to face her okashira. His eyes followed the flow of her hair. Hers in turn took in his every feature unbidden. There, standing right in front of her in his full glory was the man of her dreams. She let her gaze rest on the bed behind him, her eyes diminishing slightly in their intensity as she strived to restrain the sensations warring within her once again. It was quite obvious that she could barely contain herself whenever it came to anything that concerned _him_. Pity she wasn't sure exactly what he thought about her in turn. She shifted easily, her ankles peeking out of the sleek robe she had donned so hastily, "So, should I come to call and pay my respects to him, Ayo?"

Aoshi, who had been watching her twirl her lush midnight tresses pale fingers brought his cobalt blue intensity to face her, his eyes settling on her face as he murmured, "As long as I'm sure he doesn't try anything _inappropriate_." With his pointed emphasis on that word, his piercing azure eyes clashed with her ocean-tinted ones, betraying an almost feral protectiveness. Misao shivered slightly; she wasn't sure if she was reacting that way out of pleasure or discomfort. The willowy kunoichi then shook her head, saying slowly, "I don't think you would even let him lay a finger on me. That doesn't concern me as much as…"

He took a step forward, closing in the distance between them as efficiently as a man would snuff out a candle with his moistened fingers, "As much as?"

Misao took a deep breath—she couldn't think when he was that close, dammit! Why wouldn't he just give her some space to breath? It would make it infinitely easier for her to keep up with her resolutions, then. 

"I-I don't think Bretton would be the kind of man just to invite me for the heck of it, Ayo. He's trying to get something out of all of this. I'm not scared for my honor as much as I'm scared with what I can accidentally let out with a slip of my tongue." 

            "That is a justifiable fear." Her heart plummeted at the idea that he would not consider her up to be able to meet the task proficiently, but the falling sensation was shortlived: "However, I have reasons to place my confidence in you—you are to accept his invitation by all means."

*

            "Georgiana?"

            A distinguished auburn-haired young woman let out an exasperated sigh—seriously, what did John want now? A delicately arched eyebrow met the man who came langorously into the waiting room, his copper hair in an elegant disarray as he smirked waywardly at his sister, his emerald eyes planning devilment at the very moment that his sister's equally verdant gaze betrayed feigned boredom: "What could possibly be of interest now, especially at this dreadful hour of the morning?"

            "Dreadful hour? Pray, do not tell me that you have just awaken."

            "Of course not—it is just that there is nothing remotely of significance to engage one's self in."

            The corner of his lips curved even further, revealing white, glistening teeth as he articulated: "Really? Well, I must say that tomorrow you'll have someone worthy of dissection."

            "By all means, tell me who the guest is, dear brother."

            Dr. John Bretton's smirk took a more sadistic sheen—there was no love lost between him and his sister. Their relationship had gone steadily downhill once Georgiana had figured out about his exotic dalliances at the tender, idealistic age of fourteen. He preened his shirt collar, pretending to take much interest in the condition of his spotless gloves.

            The stunning European woman stamped her little foot impatiently, "Well? I do not have all day for your foolishness."

            "Hanabusa Meiko."

            Georgiana cocked her head in a show of blatant curiosity, "A Nippon woman?"

            "And one of the most exquisite I have ever seen."

            The young lady Bretton sat down lightly, leaning against the downy velvet-lined cushions before allowing her half-lidded gaze turn into an expression of feral irony to match her brother's: "Ah, but that is what I have always heard about every new addition to your growing collection."

            Bretton did not lose his debonair composure nor his roguish smirk, but his words cracked against her hearing like a whip: "Don't be impudent."

            Georgiana let out a long-suffering sigh, her reddish curls falling back dramatically as she gave in: "Very well then, my lord brother. I will entertain her company tomorrow. At what time, I pray?"

            "The evening."

            She could not control the smirk from returning onto her features: "Ah, yes… just in time for dessert."

**

            Despite the light and enjoyable repast he had with Misao and the bath he had taken, Aoshi could still feel her influence. He could still sense the phantom touches, the prickling sensation elicited by Misao's nimble fingers on his body the night before, as well as the lingering taste of her in his mouth. It was surprising, to say the least, that the woman he had refused to see as an adult until shortly was so _sensual_—and innocently so. The wide-eyed fascination she had shown the past few nights when they attempted to know each other more intimately was wholly unexpected and pleasantly endearing. He wondered how he had never recognized her charms before, those little whimsical actions she was prone to throwing about. Was he ever actually ignorant of her? He supposed that he wasn't—he had fallen for her hard from the beginning of her budding adulthood; it was more his stubborn mind's refusal to acknowledge it to be so. He had breached the initial barrier and overcome his initial hesitance, drawing Misao closer to him, even when he had once thought that particular degree of intimacy would be impossible for a man like him. And now? Well, the least he could say was that he had several plans set for them both. 

Only one more thing to get out of the way—one more thing, and then there would be absolutely no hindrances to keep them apart. And that one obstacle, for all it embodied, was held in his firm grip as he scanned its contents with a distrustful, sharp eye before closing it smoothly, running his fingers absentmindedly over the glossy cover as he gestured for the old manservant to come forth: "Fujitaka? Could you please call for Meiko?"

She was there within moments, striding in with her usual brisk grace: "Did you call for me, anata?"

"The invitation arrived a few minutes ago."

"Under what pretext did he make the invitation?"

"He wants you to meet his sister, Ms. Georgiana Bretton."

Misao, who had been looking out the French window with grim resolution, snapped her head back to Aoshi in cool surprise: "Sister?"

Aoshi merely nodded, his dark eyes piercing her as he added in a low voice: "I hope you have brushed up on your social etiquette."

The young kunoichi gave her okashira a dry smile: how true. This was the true test. If the woman sniffed out any peculiarity or any falseness, their cover would be blown. Her expression must have concerned the man in front of her, for she soon found herself enveloped in steady, strong arms. He offered no words, yet his silence was enough—it was all-encompassing and soothing. After a moment of still bliss, Misao craned her head upwards, looking up in inquiry. In response, Aoshi merely nudged his mouth against hers, pressing warmth into her body. 

After pressing one last kiss on her mouth firmly, Aoshi stepped back slightly, his breath fanning over her lips as she mewled discontentedly at his minute withdrawal: "Don't worry."

At this, Misao leaned forward so that their noses touched, crossing the distance he had put between them but a moment ago; he could almost feel her smile on his lips as she murmured, "Didn't I tell you that I won't worry?" Aoshi gave in; sweeping her into his arms once again—with Misao, no distancing was acceptable. Contented in his embrace, she leaned further against him, burrowing her face into his neck before letting her hand run not so gently over his ribs, eliciting a low growl from her lover.

Aoshi's reaction was mildly savage and at once extremely satisfying to hear: "Don't do that."

Misao languidly peeled herself off of her "husband" and flashed him an enticing smile, "As you wish."

No distancing, that is, when she wasn't toying with him on purpose. 

He glowered darkly at the kunoichi, "Little tease."

She smirked, quipping back impishly, "Now you know how I've felt for the last few years. Learn to deal with it."

***

            Soujirou's smile flickered for a moment. Only a moment. Soon it was in its place, as stubbornly cheerful as ever. In fact, the average observer would most probably not even be able to determine the slight hesitation. But then again, Shinomori Aoshi was not the average observer.

            The young man formerly known as the Tenken cleared his throat before asking mildly, "Could you possibly repeat yourself? I'm not sure if I had heard you correctly."

            "You need to go undercover as a 'customer' and close friend of mine."

            Soujirou was suspicious of this new twist to the mission and for a good reason: "A customer?"

            "Yes… a customer for one of Bretton's okiyas."

            The young man, to his credit, did not color. Instead, he chose to grow deathly pale: "A brothel? I do understand that the Okami has… dubious connections with the man, but does it really require further investigation? His business with the okiyas seem to be disconnected with his underground affairs with weapons." 

            "Not quite so."

            Soujirou repressed a sigh of frustration: "Would you kindly elaborate further, Shinomori-san?"

            Aoshi gave what could be a marginal glimpse of a smirk as he brought out a crisp folder: "Headline article and obituary."

            The slight young man gave the Okashira a dry grin—it was remarkable how resourceful the man was. It was nothing fancy, nothing sophisticated—his sources included modest means. Newspaper clippings, indeed. Soujirou allowed one slender eyebrow to rise as he stepped back into the shadows, taking the cool papers out with pale fingers. A short period of engaged reading ensued. The young man then raised his eyebrow yet again, coughed in his slight embarrassment and then slipped the clippings back into the folder. 

The deceased person in question was a certain Horiuchi Azumi. Proclaimed geisha who had entertained countless figureheads of Japanese and European bearing. Bretton was stated as her danna-sama before she had been found in a murky alley in the more obscure side of Nagoya with a bullet through her head, and curiously, an unused bullet in her clenched fist. 

He then handed them back to Aoshi, "When am I expected to go?"

Glossary: 

Okami: head geisha

Okiya: Geisha teahouse

Okashira: Leader, boss…

Kunoichi: female spy/ninja (?)

Onmitsu: spy/ninja (?)

(In this story, 'ninja' and 'spy' can be used interchangeably…)

**Title meaning**: "As Horas Nuas" is Portuguese for "The Nude Hours". I don't lay a claim on any of Lydia Fagundes Telles' works.

**Author's note**: Ay caramba. When I read some of the reviews I received for the last chapter, I nearly had a seizure. 

Kenni:  I do understand your indignation, but if you took psychology, then you surely know that Asian cultures tend to have more collectivist views than individualistic views. No matter how strong, how fiery Misao may be, that does not mean that she is the _American_ version of a strong woman. The only flaw I can truly point out amongst nearly all fanfic writers whenever they portray a strong female character like Misao, Sango or etc. is that they portray them as strong American women: liberated, bold and blunt. True, they are often closely portrayed as such in the animes, but the subtle cultural difference is still there. Being a strong woman does not mean that she cannot have binding ties. Misao, out of her own free will, decides to bind herself to Aoshi. If she decides that's a mistake, then that's because she chose to see it in another light. Having the burden of waiting for love is normally viewed in American society as too partial and unhealthy (not feminist). But have you realized how strong a woman has to be to shoulder such a burden? _Misao is all woman_. Strong Asian women (even until now) are often those who are self-reliant but _choose_ to love a person unconditionally. She should not be looked down upon as a "Cinderella" just because she simply chooses to wait. A little single-minded, yes; a little intense, yes—but certainly not dumb, dependent or weak. The blind part? It meant that Misao had not seen that Aoshi himself was ready to receive love without any scruples. 

Again, I sympathize with your views, but I wouldn't revise the chapter in any way (I guess you can call it a willful manifestation of belief perseverance on my part, eh?). Please, do not feel discouraged to voice your opinions in your reviews (especially since you have well-grounded and elaborate feedback to give, other than the usual "how cute" or "how sweet") and I, in turn, will feel entitled to respond in whatever manner befits the subject matter. 

Thanks to the following reviewers: **Cat H** (my winner!), **lebleuphenix, Flamesolo, Kenni, chibi-ken14, Azura Dea, Gina, chitchat** (whose review was very thorough, indeed ^_~), **angelyca, Argentum Draco, Katisha888** (good question. I'll reveal the meaning of the title at the end of the story. Uh, by the way, are you by any chance the same person as Cat H?), **Aiteane** (Aoshi? A sleazeball? Wow, I can't really seem to see where he would come out so out of character. Could you give me more specifics?), **nadachi_chan, bem, Kenta Divina, Joan Mae, Kmye-chan, Megami No Ushi, SunStar, Ami N Aya, Shahrezad1, chris, Linda_Ishtar,** and finally, **anonymous** (thanks for your "refute", but the review you were defending my story against actually did not offend me. It was constructive criticism and someone else's legitimate opinion. I do thank you for your empathy, though. You come across as a mature reader and I hope I can get you to continue reading my stories).

ARGH! A **very smart** reviewer of mine (aka **thought x crime**) had commented that Misao seemed to be fluent in Italian (Dante, Purgatorio, etc.), but I didn't add that as one of the languages she could speak when she was talking to Bretton! I'm so scatterbrained these days… I'll go switch it soon: Misao can speak English, French, Japanese and Italian. 

WOO HOO! I hit over a 100 reviews! Honestly, I never thought I would get that much feedback… *squee!* Oh, and by the way, by all means, ask questions! I'll answer 'em!

Erh… I was going over the story again to get "in the flow" again, and I realized that Aoshi is A LOT more out of character than I had originally thought! Bee *winces*… miyanheh! I will not change Aoshi now, though. I value consistency more than characterization. Eek!


End file.
